Of Blood Ties and Demon Magnets
by Maite
Summary: Kyrie had always thought her prince was the boy in blue and red- a charming rebel who knew how to sweep her off her feet. What she gets is far from expected though, as her true knight seems to have more of a penchant for blue and a heart of ice to match..
1. Beginnings Are Always Messy

**Chapter One: Beginnings Are Always Messy**

"So…what do you think?"

Kyrie looked past the slightly overgrown lawn unto the white house that lay just beyond it. It was a modestly sized, two-story building like its neighbors – an ordinary house in an ordinary suburb, with white-painted walls and blue-tiled roofs and even a little iron wrought gate to grant an additional measure of privacy.

"You have a nice house." She replied politely to the woman next to her, who had earlier introduced herself as Trish.

"Wait till you see the inside." Came the ominous reply. Trish was, simply put, stunning. She stood like a queen and moved like a dancer, long legs clad black-leather gliding up the walk in heels that hurt Kyrie's ankles just to look at. The unabashedly tight corset-top (in black leather, of course) clung to each curve and dip of her body, while hair that looked like it should belong on a shampoo advertisement draped a golden sheet down to her hips. Judging by the little smile that permanently played on her red-painted lips, it was clear that Trish knew she was gorgeous and was more than happy to flaunt it.

In contrast, Kyrie held none of the eye-catching glamour of the woman before her and looked almost painfully plain in comparison. Auburn hair was tied back in a simple ponytail and while she kept reasonably fit, her clothes consisted of nothing more extravagant than a pair of faded jeans and a pale cream peasant blouse in cuts that were modest almost to a fault. She was ordinary, but she quietly reminded herself that she could make the best gingersnaps in the whole town _and _recite pi to 31 places. That had to count for something, right?

"Here we go." Trish managed to unlock the door and ushered her in. The stench hit Kyrie without warning and she felt her lips part in wordless surprise only to shut it firmly again with a grimace.

Pizza boxes, empty tubs of strawberry ice cream, piles of books and old newspapers littered the floor with careless abandon while the coat rack on her right was overflowing with various articles of clothing- except for coats. There was a smell of old food and Kyrie wondered if it would be rude to breathe with her mouth instead.

"Come along, there's still the living room, kitchen and bathroom to see." Trish clearly enjoyed her startled expression as she nudged the younger girl over the threshold, shutting the door firmly behind her.

The living room was worse than the hallway as all sorts of items from more packages of take-out to books and various articles of clothing was strewn all around. An electric guitar was propped atop a paper-cluttered coffee table while a worn out punching bag was strung from the ceiling adjacent to a just as battered television.

"Messy, huh?" Trish nudged pizza boxes aside with a booted toe as she made her way to the windows and forced it open.

Kyrie struggled to be tactful. "Er… it looks well-lived in."

"Namely it's messy." Trish looked amused at the attempt. "The kitchen's this way…"

After Kyrie's tour of the kitchen that had more dirty dishes than a dozen restaurants put together and the bathroom, the tiles of which nursed unidentified gunk that made her stomach clench queasily, Trish gave her the keys to the house.

"Lock up at seven. Just tidy up a little- I know nothing short of a miracle can completely clean up that mess, so no pressure. Just make it mildly livable." Her eyes shone with suppressed mirth. "Poor dear. You must be regretting this heartily."

"Oh no…" Kyrie shook her head weakly. "Its fine. I enjoy challenges."

"That's the spirit." Trish glanced at the wall clock and brushed back a wayward strand of blonde impatiently. "Alright, I have to leave now. Don't forget that the second floor is off-limits—we have a rather grumpy tenant who lives there and he takes his privacy very seriously. Just lock up before you leave and pop the key back in the slot."

Kyrie straightened her shoulders with a determined nod. "Alright- I'll do my best!"

Trish gave a silvery laugh as she strolled out the door, leaving the girl alone with the mess.

Mildly livable…? Kyrie turned back at the hallway and caught sight of a moldy doughnut with a cringe.

"Lord, help me please..." She picked up a broom and attacked.

* * *

The blade was heavy with the comforting weight of well-tempered steel, folded over and over to a single hairsbreadth edge that could cleave through flesh, through bone, past marrow and out again. It was a good blade, one that had served him reasonably well since he had picked it from Dante's arsenal.

_One day, Dante had burst into his room without warning, declaring that he had deemed him well - and more importantly - trustworthy enough, to be granted with a weapon. He weighed the snide comment about Lady's very vocal opinion on exactly the opposite (she had stormed in and out again some minutes ago – did they really think he could not hear them yelling like that on the first floor?), but decided against it in favour of being able to fight again. He had to concede that the younger son of Sparda had grown in some measure of maturity, if only by not presuming to choose a weapon for him._

The hilt lay comfortably within his gloved palm, fingers curled with intimate knowing around the dark leather, each notch now known and his. He swung the sword once, a swift and neat arc that ended with the sword extended in a perfectly level plateau before him, moving with such control it was as if steel and flesh were one.

_The extent of Dante's arsenal was impressive – gauntlets, spears, nun chucks, shotguns, lances, running the gamut both of traditional and lesser-known weapons. He had bypassed most of them, immediately moving to where the blades were kept. Pale but strong hands drifted over the clumsier broadswords and rejected those that were energy-imbued. Only once did he hesitate over Force Edge, fingers lightly passing over the jeweled-hilt in a greeting caress before moving on. _

_Dante had raised an eyebrow at that, but did not comment. Again he might have to make allowance for the man's improved maturity. _

He took a quiet breath and moved with such suddenness that it was violence. There were no wasted movements in each sweep and stroke – strokes precise, swings meticulous. From the soles of booted feet to the masculine arch of neck, each muscle knew where it should be and moved with controlled accordance. In his strike was the grace of years spent in worship of an art, the parry bringing his entire frame from movement to absolute stillness before a whipping riposte would send him back to flight.

_Finally, he settled on a sword composed of simple steel. It was an ordinary, almost plain, blade, but when he grasped the scabbard and unsheathed it to study its keen, hungry edge, he knew he had found the blade to serve him. He resheathed the sword almost carelessly and gave the waiting demon hunter a nod. _

"_This will do."_

He moved faster and faster and faster, tracing patterns in the air and cleaving through unseen enemies, blade chasing its own after-image as if to fight against itself, that is until muscles pushed far too much for far too long, suddenly seized up. He was sent stumbling to the ground, the sword clattering a distance away as he landed heavily on his arms and knees. He wanted to curse, to draw his fist back and slam it on the ground, again and again for as long as it took to alleviate the anger that boiled within him at his own helplessness. Pathetic, he wanted to spit out. Wanted to beat at his own flesh - so rebellious, so _weak -_ and cow it into submission.

Instead, he rose to his feet and slowly made his way to the fallen sword, which had been waiting patiently for him. Hilt firmly in hand, he took a deep breath and resumed the opening stances.

From the top of the stairwell overlooking the training room, Dante watched Vergil train, his own fist clenched to tightness that drew blood.

* * *

Kyrie's arms were sore carrying near a thousand boxes of pizza, sorting through the piles of clothes as well as scrubbing crusted leftovers off of bowls and plates. Not to mention lugging around garbage bags, and vacuuming through several month's worth of dust. She was starting to ache in places she had not known it was possible to ache and longed for a shower and a nap – but smiled at the sight of the fruitcake muffins on the counter.

Nero.

One day, Kyrie had mentioned in passing that she had wanted to try the unusual pastry. Nero who had been tuning his bike had only offered noncommittal hums – but later that night had surprised her with a bag of the things. Every now and again, she'd come home to a cupcake or two, which always made her smile at his thoughtfulness though she hadn't the heart to tell him that fruitcake muffins were unusual for a reason.

Nibbling said pastry, she entered the living room to her older brother's pacing form. Dressed in his military uniform of white embroidered gold and scarlet, Credo cut an impressive figure. There was something hard and meticulous about him, and he had an air of someone who was used to giving orders and then being obeyed.

"Kyrie. Sit." Credo relaxed a hair's breathe at the sight of his sister.

"Is anything wrong?" She sank into the couch before biting into an overly processed cherry with a wince.

He gave a smile that was a little strained at the corners. "I was a little worried about you at taking a job like this, especially one that requires you at so intimate a place as another's home so I called the house up at the number you left on the fridge."

Kyrie watched the telltale twitch of her brother's eye. Oh dear…

"We've been through this!" She spoke firmly, sitting up suddenly. "I've been offered a great salary by Trish for a bit of cooking and cleaning and besides, there was no one in the house at all. You promised you'd trust me." She lifted her chin almost stubbornly. "I'm old enough to help you out now, Credo and I-"

Credo wordlessly clicked his cell phone and put in on speaker to a man's rather sensuous baritone.

"Yeah, yeah, you know the drill. Girls, leave your name and number. Guys, don't bother." The beep of the answering machine echoed in the sharp silence.

"…um…."

"'Um' indeed."

* * *

**AN**

****This fic will be AU in setting, but the basic premise is for games 1 and 3, with 4 being shaken and picked at, while 2 shall be completely ignored. :D

I'm doing a lot of re-vamping on this story - so do let me know if you like what you see~


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

.

"I'm really sorry for the trouble Nero. Credo's can be such a bully at times." Kyrie clasped her hands on her lap, looking adorably sulky in Nero's opinion.

"No prob'." He swung the car around the corner with a slight recklessness that made bystanders wary. "Its on the way to work anyway."

"Um… no it's not." Kyrie's head swung around to look at him. "The police station is in the opposite direction."

"Not today. I have some business in the docks- classified detective stuff." Startlingly blue eyes met her own as he slowed down to a halt in front of the stoplight. "Otherwise known as grunt work depending on your point of view."

"Be careful out there." Kyrie couldn't help but smile at his dismissive snort as the stoplight turned green.

"Actually, I'm kinda relieved that Credo's asking me to drive you there and back. This saves me the trouble of convincing him to allow me." Nero's gaze was firmly fixed on the road ahead, his voice and features composed to pure and utter indifference.

At the sudden silence, Nero discreetly glanced at her through the corner of his eye only to catch his breath at the smile that glowed out from Kyrie's face.

"What got Credo so annoyed anyway?" He floundered for a topic, jabbing at the radio in an effort to mask his sudden self-consciousness.

"Oh, some silly message on the answering machine." Kyrie turned back to gazing out the window.

"Must have been pretty bad to get you on house arrest."

"It was immature! 'Girl's leave your name and number'" She mimicked. "But why Credo had to be so over-protective about something that didn't even concern me is… Nero? Why are we turning back?"

* * *

"Those two!" Kyrie grumbled under her breath while she scrubbed the sink with a vengeance.

Persuading Nero to turn the car around had taken a good half-hour, with Kyrie growing more and more exasperated at the irrational protectiveness that she received from the two most important men in her life.

"You're just as bad as Credo! Both of you have to let me out of the house and take some independence at one point." There was a stubborn glint in her eyes and Nero sighed, as he knew that the only thing he would achieve with arguing with her was the silent treatment. Besides, it kind of stung that she thought he was on the same level as her prudish older brother…

"Alright, alright." He conceded defeat, but gave the house a suspicious glare. "I'll pick you up at six sharp. But if you see a man in the house I want you to kick him in the shin and call me immediately."

The squabble with her best friend had brought back memories of yesterday's harassment, courtesy of her brother.

After a long lecture and argument with Credo, she had barely managed to convince him to let her go back to work. It was only after Kyrie had called Trish up and Trish had explained that her answering machine was broken so she had to borrow one from her friend, that he grudgingly agreed- on the condition that either he or Nero drove and picked her up from work.

That, and the fact that she was under house arrest for the rest of the month.

"Just find another job!" Credo's voice had taken on an almost pleading tone. "Somewhere where I know you're safe?"

"You didn't think working at the bakery or supermarket or post office was safe enough." Kyrie reminded him. "I don't see what other options I have left!"

"You didn't see the looks that those men were giving you!" Credo took a deep breath to keep himself from hoping up and down in rage at the memory.

She eventually wore him down though, as Credo was finding it increasingly difficult to say no to his sister who had hardly ever argued or disagreed to his wishes.

So as a last resort he had gone and treated her like an errant eight year old- grounding her for a month in exchange for keeping her job.

Kyrie splashed water on the tiled floor and watched with satisfaction as most of the grime was now gone and even the sink was gleaming dully.

She scowled at her slightly sodden and disheveled reflection for a while before stalking out of the bathroom to go beat out the cushions in the garden, feeling the need to hit something…

However, both her anger and energy soon failed and she beat the cushions half-heartedly.

The sunlight shone through the leaves, making hazy patterns both on the ground and on her skin. Kyrie pushed an errant lock of hair off her face and turned her head to bask in the sun's kiss.

All of a sudden, there was a crash from somewhere in the house.

Kyrie cautiously peered through the doorway. "Trish?"

She gathered the pillows and made her way back to the living room, alert for any further movement or sound.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Kyrie headed out into the hallway to see a blacked cloak figure swivel its head to look at her.

Out of its misty cloak's folds hung long arms and legs composed of naked bone that ended in claw like fingers and toes. In one hand was a scythe that glowed an ominous purple and it's eyeless, skeletal face turned to stare in her direction.

Kyrie dropped the pillows.

In a flash, the scythe's blade embedded itself on the doorway where her head had just been. Kyrie ran blindly down the hallway, her throat too constricted and mouth too dry to let out anything more than a whimper of fear as she heard the scrabble of nails on the tiled floor as it gave pursuit.

The cotton folds of her dress whipped around her legs as she flung herself into the kitchen and grabbed a spatula from the counter, brandishing it wildly.

There was a blur and Kyrie felt cold steel graze her knuckles as the spatula she was holding was cut cleanly in half.

There was not even time to scream as the creature swung its arms back to strike.

Shiiiiing!

The creature stopped in mid-swing as it stared dumbly at the blade that suddenly protruded from its chest. Its arms dropped limply to the side before slowly turning into grey ash.

The blade clattered by her feet and Kyrie sank to the floor in a trembling heap.

There, standing in front of her with an indifferent look in glacial blue eyes was a silver-haired man. His blue trench coat rustled as he kneeled in front of her to take the sword and re-sheath at in a scabbard in his hands.

"Still breathing?"

His lips quirked up a little and in the midst of her fear and shock she was struck by the similarities between him and her child-hood friend Nero.

His silvery hair was sleeked back carelessly, bringing out the sharp contours of aristocratic features. There too was a certain aloofness with the way he held himself, as if he found the simplest of social interactions tedious. For all the similarities to her best friend though, the differences stood out just as glaringly obvious. Although both blue orbs were of the same hue and had the same steely determination and painful pride, the stranger's eyes were cold and lifeless. There was none of the warmth and almost shy-ness that she had found so endearing in Nero's own, and Kyrie was filled with a sudden longing to see her friend.

"Can you get up?" He continued.

Kyrie wasn't sure if she could even breathe, but she nodded and rose stiffly.

He studied her openly, a strange look on his face as he turned heel. "Sit down, I'll call Trish." He called back, and that was when she noticed the tears streaking down her cheeks with no intention of stopping soon.

"It's just the shock…I'll be fine." Kyrie sobbed as her hands flew up to cover her face and her cry began in earnest.

* * *

"But how did a Hell Vanguard steal up here without anybody noticing?" Trish demanded, torn between the desire to hit something and comfort Kyrie.

"It's not a matter of anyone not noticing but one of having anyone left alive to notice." Vergil replied coolly.

His words made Kyrie shiver involuntary. The slight movement drew Trish's attention and she wrapped a motherly arm over the girl's shoulders. "Really- trying to fend demons off with a spatula!" She scoffed.

"It was the only thing in reach!" Kyrie replied defensively.

Suddenly the phone rang.

"Hello?" Trish picked the receiver up. "So what did you find out? Mm-hm. Yeah. I see." She hung up abruptly and turned towards the two. "It was Dante. He said Lady's still tying up a case but he'll do an extra round on the hotspots right now to tend to any other demons. To quote: 'They can't start the party without me'."

"Will your friend be alright in his own?" Kyrie began to fiddle with the tassels on her bag. "My brother works in the Police's Special Forces. Maybe I can call him for help or…"

"Don't worry." Trish assured. "Dante isn't easily killed. Trust me- I've tried."

"Um, I'm… glad to hear that."

Vergil's cold gaze fixed itself on Kyrie. "Who are you?"

Kyrie suddenly felt nervous. There was something decidedly dangerous about this man that both frightened and enticed. "My name's Kyrie. Pleased to meet you."

"I hired her to keep this pigsty your brother calls house clean." Trish added.

Vergil gave the room around him a distasteful once-over before resuming his interrogation. "And what kind of creature are you this time?"

"'Creature?'" Kyrie looked confused. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."

"Quit play-acting." He raised his chin to stare her down. "I've been asleep for a week, trying to conserve as much power as I can when all of a sudden I'm overtaken with a need to rush down and protect a girl who I didn't even know existed. I felt your fear and it woke me."

Kyrie wondered what to make of the sudden turn of events. She had always known that creatures of the otherworld had existed, twisted beings that killed and preyed on humans. Both Credo and Nero had been too immersed in the darker side of society for her not to know about this. But to have almost been killed, and now accused as one was just too ridiculous.

She gave a hysterical giggle.

Trish opted for raising a perfect eyebrow. "That sums up my thoughts too. There's not a hint of magical energy flowing from her Vergil, I can attest to that."

"There are other forms of power." He replied simply, a shadow passing over his face.

"That aside, I won't be surprised if you never come back to work again Kyrie." Trish tilted her head in contemplation of the room. "Pity. I was just starting to hope that we'd see the floor soon."

"If you don't mind, I would like to continue working tomorrow." Kyrie tried to arrange her thoughts to coherency. "It had been difficult to convince my brother to allow me to take this job so I would prefer not to have him know. I'm unharmed and I see no reason to hide away because of an occurrence that could've easily happened anywhere else." She spoke calmly, hoping that she convinced herself too.

"Brave girl." Trish gave a throaty chuckle. "You're welcome to come back here at anytime you wish. If you change your mind about the time out, that's all right too. Just leave me a message on the infamous calling machine anytime you want out."

There came a honking of a car from outside.

"I assume that's your brother. Come on, I'll bring you out and see what I can do to make him feel better about you working here." Trish sauntered out of the room.

Kyrie picked up her bag and hurried to follow, only to turn heel at the last second. "Thank you." She smiled tentatively at the silent man before sweeping out of the room.

* * *

**AN:** A special thank you to Yuu-ko, Belladonna-Isabella, Caffeinegoddess and spacegall 19 for being such dears and reviewing/ putting my story on alert. You've inspired me to post this chappy up. I hope to hear more from you guys soon!

.

And yep, you've caught me, this is AU... Um, imagine the events of DMC 1 and 3 having finished. then, instead of Fortuna, Nero and the others live somewhere in the city where Dante's agency is located. This was the general idea I had for the setting anyway... I'm still debating whether or not to bring Lucia in anyway. Suggestions anybody?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

"Now, flex your arm." Agnus watched the blinking screen that monitored the young man's vital signs as well as various other calculations that were beyond understanding.

Nero gave an impatient sigh and obeyed, making it clear that he was less than enthusiastic about the entire process.

"Now, now- we're almost done." The hunch-upped man gave a leer that was meant to be reassuring. "Just take ball and give it a squeeze."

Nero caught the steel ball that the doctor flung at him, and closed his right hand over it. There was a brittle crack, and fine steel dust trickled from between his fingers.

He smirked.

"E-e-e-excellent! Excellent!" Agnus scribbled madly on his check board, a strange glint in his eyes. "That will be all for today."

Nero shrugged on his shirt, looking over at the diagrams that slowly faded from the screen. "Hey Doc', the last pills were practically useless. Can't you crank up the dosage some more?"

"Your body has an amazing ability to make itself immune to the drugs that we give you. I am tempted to…. But no. We want to…" Agnus' eyes greedily fastened themselves on Nero's right hand until Nero defiantly slipped on his glove. "'…c-c-c-cure you of this after all."

"Isn't that a relief." Nero spoke sardonically, waiting for the momentary nausea, that always accompanied wearing the glove that was programmed to suppress the non-human side of him, to abate. "But the dreams have been increasing lately. If I don't get this under control soon, someone's going to notice."

"We're working on another glove that will allow you to hide the demonic traces more thoroughly." Agnus replied. "Patience boy. Soon I'll have all the data I need and you'll never be bothered by that hand again."

"Uh-huh, sure, whatever." Nero rose and left the sterile room without a backwards glance.

Although he'd never admit it, there was a sense of relief after every visit that he was getting closer and closer to curing his unusual problem.

A part of him balked and loathed at the thought of what all the drugs and suppressing technology were doing to his body, but Nero merely stuffed his right hand in his pocket resignedly.

For as long as he could remember his right hand had always been…different. From the elbow down, it was unusually muscular as well as imbued with a supernatural energy that made it glow ice blue. It was a little larger than his left hand as well as much, much stronger. But it wasn't only his hand that was unusual. Nero didn't know if it was a side effect of having said appendage, but he was faster, stronger and could heal faster than anyone he knew.

That, and he could only have one dream- a reoccurring dream that had long ago burned itself into his memory.

It always started out with him falling.

Nero gazed up at a cavernous sky, up at a figure that was too blurred to make sense of. As he continued to fall, Nero would hear the whistle of wind and the shadows that called his name with an uncanny familiarity, as well as smell the stench of sulfur that made his throat and eyes burn. After what felt like hours, Nero finally reached the ground, landing on his feet with clumsy pain.

Then, the sky would weep.

He watched the rain stain his skin scarlet, and caught occasional glimpses of a face that was both familiar and strange in the puddles. He would limp forward, leaning heavily on a sword that, unlike most of the blades he was used to, was slender and seemed almost too fragile to support him.

Then a blur of red would catch his eye, and in the distance he would see what looked like three flaming orbs that hung in the bloody sky. There was something unspeakably wrong and twisted that hung about it, like a dark aura. It repulsed and entranced, promising nothing but death and sorrow- a greedy thing that sought to destroy.

A hate so acute would overcome his senses, almost choking him with loathing and a deep unexplainable dread. Then, no matter how leaden and pain-wracked his body felt, no matter how much he longed to curl up and hide, Nero would charge. As he ran, Nero knew that he was racing towards destiny, towards death- and he was seized with a fierce and overwhelming triumph. The creature would turn slightly at the sound of his pounding steps and with a fierce yell, Nero would throw himself into the air, body poised to deliver a blow with the last and entirety of his remaining strength.

It was at that point that he would awaken, sweating heavily and gasping for breath.

The dreams had been coming with alarming frequency, leaving him as weary as if he had actually gone and done all that he had dreamed. However, with the help of the pills given by Agnus, this little problem had lessened in occurrence… at least until his body became immune to the latest dosage and he had to go back to the clinic and ask for a new batch.

"Mr. Nero?" A blushing nurse approached after much prodding and giggling from her fellow nurses. "The doctor told me to give this you." She handed him a paper bag that Nero tucked inside his coat.

"Uh… thanks." He cleared his throat awkwardly as she began to bat her eyelashes. "Tell him that the… thingy better be finished by the time I get back."

"'Thingy' Mr. Nero?" The nurse's giggles grated harshly against his ears. "Well, if you ever need anything else, I'd be happy to help. My name is Barbie and I--"

"Yeah, thanks- 'till next time then." Nero ignored her affronted look and quickly left the building.

Once outside, he slipped in his car and leaned back against the seat with a sigh. He had been going to the specialty clinic for fifteen years now, and there had only been the snail's creeping progress on his condition. After being taken in by Credo at the Police Orphanage, Nero had been introduced to the creepy Doctor Agnus, who had quickly taken up his case with obsessive interest.

Tearing open the paper bag, Nero popped two the white pills inside his mouth before funneling the rest into a little black bottle that he tucked inside his pocket.

It wasn't long before the pills took effect and Nero felt his arm relax to the point of being numb. With a shudder of revulsion at the strange after taste, he turned the key and set the car in a thankful roar across the streets, eager to get away from the clinic.

It wasn't that he hated his inhuman part, or even disliked it. Sure it made his dating prospects look grim, and he had to be extra careful not to hold things too tightly- but it was pretty useful in his line of work.

So why did he continue to go to the clinic?

Well, for one, Credo promised to knock him out and drag him to the clinic himself if Nero ever refused to go. That and the fact that the Agnus told him that unless they stopped it, the demonic energy would soon spread through out his entire body and Nero would loose control over himself.

Nero knew first-hand what kind of carnage demons could cause if was set free in the human world. The thought that he might become one of those creatures and hurt someone he knew made him grit his teeth in self-revulsion.

Agnus had added that his human memories would hold long enough for him to start hunting down the people he cared about most. Love and friendship would mean nothing to his animal-like mind and the memories would become corrupted to become nothing more that a hit list.

The cynical part of Nero's mind laughed at the doctor's melodramatic scenarios and suspected that Agnus had made this all up to keep him tied there. It urged him to shove the pills down the Agnus' throat and see how he liked it. Yet the part that had learned to love screamed at him to go and chop off his arm. Nero decided for a compromise and went to the clinic once every other month.

Only because he couldn't let Agnus' predictions come true. Only because he would have to move towns and he had grown quite found of this one. Only because some of the guys at the precinct hadn't paid him back for the burgers yet. Only because it would be such a hassle to get blood stains off the carpet. Only because…

He had to protect her from himself.

* * *

Kyrie ran her fingers into the gouged wood of the doorframe, where the demon's scythe had embedded itself.

So it hadn't been a dream after all…

"But that was a once in a life time occurrence! They say that lightning doesn't strike in the same place twice and I'm sure the same thing applies to demons. I mean… Just give it a whack here then there and it should run away!" Kyrie demonstrated to an invisible audience, swinging the broom wildly. "…and a jab in the shin for good measure!"

There was a breathy gust that sounded vaguely like a laugh and she wheeled around, nerves taut. "W…whose there?!"

There was no answer but the rustle of the curtains as it swayed in the breeze.

Kyrie scolded herself for being so jumpy and marched over to shut the window. The air smelled of thunder without rain and she was filled with an unexplainable unease.

Then came the strangely familiar sound of a sword being loosened from its sheath. "Back away from the window."

Kyrie obeyed quickly, giving Vergil an indignant look. "You laughed at me just now, didn't you?"

"Haven't you gotten your magic under control yet?" He gave no sign of hearing apart from the barest twitch at the corner of his lips. "It's stronger today."

"I don't have magic." Kyrie called after his retreating figure. "Are you going out now?"

"There was a spike in energy just now. A lot of demons have just been summoned somewhere near." An edge of eagerness touched Vergil's voice. "I'm going to go welcome them."

"Please be careful."

Vergil's silver head turned sharply at her words, but finding no signs of mockery or deception on her face, gave a hesitant nod before slipping out of the room.

Kyrie continued sweeping up the months worth of crumbs and dust on the floor, surprised at how well she was taking the entire situation. There was no question that this was no normal household and she had a niggling suspicion that she was in a Demon Hunter's home… a suspicion that was further strengthened by the number of swords and various other arsenals that had appeared around the house from yesterday. The owner obviously believed (no way could Trish be the true occupant even if this was what she had initially said. The house was too cluttered and moldy for even the messiest female) that Kyrie could now be trusted with seeing the pointy, potentially lethal objects.

The day passed quickly and Kyrie soon found herself waiting for Credo to pick her up.

"He's late…" She glanced at her watch with a worried frown. She tried dialing home first, but when no one picked up, her fingers automatically tapped in the Police Station's number.

"Hello?" A harassed male voice answered on the fourth ring.

"Good evening officer. Is Credo there?"

"Commander Credo?" The voice turned to abrupt attention. "No he's not back yet. Who is this?"

"This is his sister, Kyrie. Do you suppose you could tell me where he is?"

"Well Kyrie," The man's tone turned softer. "That's a bit confidential but- h-h-HEY!"

There was a scuffle on the other line and Nero's voice suddenly piped up from the other line. "Kyrie? Is this you?"

"Hello Nero. Please apologize to that man later."

"What! It's not my fault he can't stand a simple elbow in the ribs. Anyway- we're in a bit of trouble right now. I was just about to go back to the action so I'm afraid I can't pick you up either." Nero's tone turned grim. "I need you to stay there for a while. Under no circumstances are you to leave the house without either of Credo or I- promise me Kyrie."

"Nero--" Concern crept into her voice.

"Stay. Please."

The connection cut, leaving Kyrie nothing but the harsh dial tone.

* * *

**AN:** Sorry it took so long but here's the third chapter at long last (confetti is thrown around happily)

I know, I know, this was another long rather boring chapter of nothing but explanations- but bear with me for a little longer and I'll soon have the action going! As I mentioned before, this is isn't very canon, but everything will be explained in due time… : D (Nyehehehe!)

I love you reviewers- you're the light and inspiration to this thirsty writer's soul ;P Specially dedicated toHao is Hot (As promised!!), Mrs A Cullen (YES- VERGIL IS SMEXY!! XD), Kit (You too? -sighs- men…), the Great Hippo Thief (I like your username ), Gotta Dance 88 (Thank you! Hope to see you again soon!), Belladonna Isabella (Gotcha- no Lucia then! ) and Yuu-ko (WELCOME BACK!) for inspiring me to finish up this chapter!

Coming up: Dante makes his entrance! (Whooot!)


	4. Where Kyrie Learns to Drive A Motorcycle

**Chapter 4**

Kyrie sat curled up on the couch, a hand holding the curtains open as she watched the dark streets. She had been keeping vigil on the roads for a sign of the familiar cars, but two hours had already passed with neither hide nor hair of Nero, Credo or even Vergil.

Her eyes were just beginning to close when the door slammed open and a clatter of boots sounded in the hallway.

Before she could scramble upright, the intruder marched in the living room, carrying a bazooka that was poised to shoot.

"Dante! Get your butt down here or I swear I'll-" A voluptuous woman with dark shaggy hair yelled. An aura of annoyance hung about her until she realized the room's occupant was not the infamous demon hunter (who she desperately wanted to kill) but a wide-eyed human girl.

"Huh? Where's Dante? What are you doing here?" The woman relaxed her murderous pose and flicked her shades upwards. Her eyes, one a light blue and the other a rich brown, stared at Kyrie intently.

"W-wait! I was hired by Trish to clean the house! I don't know who Dante is, but no one is in this house but me." Kyrie cleared her throat hesitantly. "Um… would you mind aiming your bazooka somewhere else? It's making me nervous…"

"Oh, sure." She obliged, marching to the staircase and peering up the dark hallway of the second floor. "Have you seen a white-haired man skulk in here? You can't miss him- he's bound to make a pass at you before you can even blink."

"I can't say I have." Kyrie gave an inward sigh of relief. "Does he… live in this house too?"

"You mean if he's responsible for the mess you have to clean up around here?" The woman smiled at the sudden blush that told her she was right. "Yes. Doesn't that make you want to kill him too? My name's Lady by the way. You're Kyrie, right? I've heard about you from Trish. Nice to finally put a face to the name."

"Pleased to meet you too." Kyrie smiled warmly. "Oh! I'm sorry for staying behind so late today- I'm just waiting for my brother to pick me up you see… There are never enough men at the precinct so he needed to work overtime."

Lady nodded in understanding. "Mm. Today has been pretty wild." She spoke cryptically, hitching her bazooka behind her shoulder with surprising strength. "Would you like a ride home then? My motorcycle's in the garage and I have a helmet to spare."

"Oh, please don't bother! I'm sure he'll be on his way soon!"

"It's no trouble at all." Lady shrugged breezily. "Come on. I'll drive slow if that's what you're worried about."

She marched confidently out the room leaving Kyrie to helplessly trail after her.

"Lady, I told my friend that I wouldn't leave without him or my brother…" Kyrie tried again, but Lady merely gunned the engine to life.

"Trust me, your friend would rather you go home than meet the flirt who lives here." Lady tossed Kyrie a helmet. "Besides, how am I supposed to kill Dante with witnesses around?"

With a resigned sigh, Kyrie clambered up behind Lady. "Thank you for the trouble." She sat up stiffly, trying to avoid the bazooka's blade.

"Oh, right." Lady shifted Kalina Ann in front of her.

The ride back to Kyrie's house was uneventful, with Lady being unusually observant of the road rules and regulations. At first, the two had tried to make conversation over the hum of the engine, but with the wind snatching their words away they soon gave it up.

"Thank you so much for the ride home." Kyrie handed Lady her helmet back.

"Sure, sure. See you." Lady turned the corner and made to speed away when a shiver ran through her spine. "Kyrie, get back!"

Kyrie hesitated on the step upon hearing Lady's warning cry, her hand on the doorknob. There was a muffled hiss from within, and the door suddenly splintered in half. "What in the world…!" She spun around, catching sight of a familiar looking demon...

"Hell Prides!" Lady skidded to a screeching halt next to the girl, whipping her bazooka on her shoulder in a well-practiced movement. "Will they ever learn?"

The explosion was deafening.

Kyrie flung a protective arm over her face at the blast of heat. Her ears still ringing, Kyrie gave the scorched front of her home a fleeting look, before swinging herself back behind Lady. There were more inhuman roars and a crash of broken glass as half a dozen red Hell Lusts jumped from the second floor windows.

"Hold on!" Lady jerked hard on the throttle and the two shot down the road with the demons hot in pursuit.

The motorcycle wove in and out of traffic, ignoring the indignant honks of other cars that were forced into stunned silence at the sight of the demons.

"They're catching up!" Kyrie yelled breathlessly.

"You drive!" Lady yelled back, swinging herself around Kyrie to the back. The motorcycle jerked out of control as Kyrie lunged at the handlebars.

_"W-wait! I don't know how to..!"_

_"Learn quickly!"_

Lady positioned herself so that she was facing the rear. Locking her knees tight, against the leather seat, she brought out two pistols and began to shoot. The first two demons were dusted easily, but the ones that followed were quickly put on their guard and lessened their pace to avoid being shot.

"Quit moving the bike so much!" Lady grunted as she reloaded the pistols with a sharp click.

"It's a little difficult to control at this speed-" Kyrie began apologetically, only to have to turn sharply to steer clear of an oncoming truck and drawing violent reactions from Lady who was almost thrown off the bike. "Sorry!"

"Just focus!" Lady raised her head again, only to find that all the demons had somehow vanished. "What the…"

There was a sharp exclamation from Kyrie and Lady's head whipped around in time to see the Hell Lusts dash in the road in front of them.

"Jump!" Lady grabbed Kyrie's arm and the two leapt off the bike, seconds before the scythes drove through the speeding vehicle in a heart stopping screech of steel.

Kyrie landed hard on her side, and lay there stunned and winded. Gasping, she quickly sat up and scrambled towards Lady who had slammed into a parked cab and was looking unusually pale.

"My shoulder's dislocated." Her lips barely moved as she ground the words out and Kyrie bit back a horrified cry upon seeing that Lady's left arm was indeed hanging limply from her shoulder. "Just… help me push it back…. I can still… fight." Lady managed to speak through gritted teeth.

There was a hiss like a laugh from behind them and Kyrie felt her composure snap.

She grabbed the pistols that had fallen conveniently near by and faced the demons with grim determination. "Stay back!"

A demon took an insolent step forward, only to be shot at with reckless ferocity. It tottered unsteadily for a while, before flashing into dust that was caught and swept away by the city breeze.

''I'm warning all of you!" Kyrie cried, seemingly torn between fury and guilt. "I have a gun and I don't know how to use it!"

"It does take a little trial and error, but you seem to have pretty good aim." An amused baritone swept from the darkness.

"Dante!" Lady raised her ashen face, with mingled relief and annoyance. "About time…!"

"Sorry for the wait," Dante stepped out of the shadows and directly beneath a street lamp whose light draped about his muscled figure like a spotlight. Vergil and he were almost mirror copies: the same high cheekbones, the same pale hair, daring Grecian nose as well as the same stunningly blue eyes that currently glittered amusement.

"Now let's get this party started!"

* * *

AN: Ack- sorry for the long wait!

You can blame Dante for this- I had to re-write this chapter 3 times(!) because I couldn't think of an appropriately stylish entrance for him… -.-;

I'm not too pleased about this chapter either, but if I didn't post soon I was getting worried that I'd loose my beloved readers. ;x;

Again, thanks goes to all my lovely reviewers (You all rock!) and my brother who has been dragged and clawed unto reading and re-reading this chapter. Love ya guys!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

With a slight swagger in his stride, Dante stepped in front of Kyrie and Lady, facing the demons that surrounded the group warily.

Dante released the hold on his pistols with a click. "You guys need a lift to hell?" He asked conversationally. "Come on- let me show you the way back."

On cue, a group of Hell Prides dashed forward, their reapers flashing blood red in the streetlight. Dante shot one clear in the forehead before performing a somersault that dashed another face down into the ground. His other hand shot out to jab the remaining demon in the mouth with the Ebony.

Can demons look surprised? If not, well this one did a very good imitation of it.

A sharp crack effectively concluded the brief tussle.

"Was that it? I was just getting warmed-up!" Dante pulled out an enormous broadsword that was sheathed on a scabbard at his back, swinging the blade in an arc over his head to point mockingly at the monsters.

There was an inhuman scream as another swarm descended upon the grinning demon-hunter.

Dante made short work of them, his sword carving through sand and bone with apparent ease. He never slowed his attack, not even to parry blows- opting to take hits in order to give back with interest. Kyrie couldn't help but stare in awe at the reckless skill of his movements, hardly breathing for all his daring acrobatic feats and at the brutality of each hack and slash.

With a whoop, Dante cleaved the last demon in dusty half, planting his sword firmly on the ground and looking back over his shoulder with a smug smile.

"…That was cool." Kyrie managed an awed whisper while Lady still managed to roll her eyes through the sting of her arm.

"Yeah, yeah, but don't tell him that. He gets awfully big-headed."

"Well, that sure looks painful." Dante cocked his head to the side, as the wounded woman limped to her feet with some help from Kyrie.

"Shut up." Gritting her teeth, Lady gripped her arm and tugged sharply.

There was a sickening pop as bone jerked back into place and Lady's face completely drained of all color. Kyrie choked back a sympathetic cry and quickly moved to support the swaying woman's weight when Lady's knees gave way.

"There's a hospital just a few blocks from here-" Kyrie began, but Lady shook her head.

"I've lived through worse." Her breath gradually eased and she took a few staggering steps down the road, still leaning heavily on Kyrie's shoulder. "Where did…" Lady let out a sharp expletive at the sight of the twisted scraps of metal that lay in the middle of the road. "My bike!"

Dante nudged the rasping engine whose protective metal casing had been torn off, with the toe of his boot. "'Bike'…?" He eyed the remains with a disbelieving air. He gave it a final prod and walked away, only to freeze in his tracks when it blew up behind his back in a fantastic burst of smoke and flame.

Lady threw him a murderous glare, and struggled to pull Kalina Ann in a shooting position with one hand. "Why I oughta--!"

"And the fun never stops." Dante's arm shot out as he rained bullets on another demon that was lurking just behind the two women. "What's up with today- is there a birthday I wasn't invited to?"

"Maybe you should ask them." Kyrie pointed at an approaching cluster of garishly colored beasts that cavorted about on both sides of the street, effectively boxing in the three.

"Scarecrows," He mused. "Well that's an old friend I haven't seen lately."

"Different demons in different regions- some more common than others depending on the area you're in." Lady explained to Kyrie, as she pulled out another gun from her belt. "Take out the left, I'll deal with those on the right."

"Ready? Now let's get reacquainted." Dante tugged his blade out of the ground and took a flying leap to meet the Scarecrows in mid-air.

Dante wove in and out of the melee, gunning and slashing like a man possessed while Lady was holding her side of the street with the skill of a professional gunner, every bullet finding its mark. Kyrie was aware that the fight had been going on for little more than five minutes, but her arm ached with the effort of mastering the recoil. 'Just shoot!' She berated her weakness, determined to hang in the fight for as long as the others needed her. They were holding back what seemed like a never ending flood of demons, a never ending line that pressed closer and closer.

"Woo-hoo!" Dante looked like he was having the time of his life, moving where the fighting was thickest. He dodged a blow that would have split his skull and responded with a firmly planted kick that threw the demon back unto the flaming hunk of metal that was Lady's motorbike. There was another explosion as if the expiring bike wanted to give a last violent protest.

Lady glanced back distractedly and the demons seized their chance.

They rushed in, blades swinging. Lady shot two into dust and ducked a third's swing, letting a puppet stream past her. "Behind you!"

Kyrie half-turned at Lady's shout, barely having enough time to throw herself to the side to avoid the slashing blade.

It spun on a clawed toe with uncanny grace, and leapt towards the girl. Kyrie desperately tried to shoot the creature that merely batted the gun away.

"Oi- eyes on me!" Dante dashed forward and skewered the Scarecrow with his blade. He flung the creature up as a shield against onrushing Hell Prides, slicing through a line of demons that had come fast at their broken formation.

Kyrie tried to back away to her fallen gun, but Dante's hand clamped on her arm and pulled her behind him in an effort to shield the girl from the horde of demons that seemed determined to cut her down.

"What's up with these things?" Dante glanced back at Kyrie looking amused. "You turn down a tall, dark and creepy dude lately? They're pretty one-tracked with trying to kill you--" He grunted, head butting a grotesquely grinning skull before throwing it back with a kick that sent its companions sprawling.

Kyrie watched anxiously as Dante faced the crowd of demons that had surrounded them. "I'm at a loss as to the reason of all of this—LOOK OUT!-- but I have to point out—MOVE!-- that I have been seeing a lot of them—DUCK!—ever since I started working at your house."

"Sheesh, you sure can reach those high-notes." Dante tugged at his ear wryly. "Just calm down babe- I've got you."

Kyrie flushed as he tossed a careless arm around her waist. She quickly ducked out of his reach, telling herself that he did it only to shoot at the demons on the other side of the road…

"Get away from her!"

A cab came hurtling from the darkness as if thrown, knocking demons to the ground like bowling pins and slamming into Dante with a violent crunch of metal. The cab was launched with such pinpoint accuracy and startling speed, that although Kyrie herself was untouched but for the whipping tailwind, it took her a second later to register the fact that Dante was no longer at her side. Momentum continued to send the car careening across the road, showering sparks and gravel everywhere before coming to a stop when it crashed into a wall.

"Dante!" Lady yelled, unable to untangle herself from the gaggle of demons that she was struggling to hold back.

Kyrie peered through the smoke and dark to catch sight of a familiar white-haired man, stalking through the fallen demons with a particularly grim expression on his face.

"Nero!"

Nero showed no signs of hearing as he marched forward, eyes firmly fixed on the smoking car in front of him. The driver's door suddenly popped from its hinges and a booted foot made an abrupt entrance, followed by the rest of the red-clad demon-hunter.

"Aren't we testy?" Dante tugged out the gear stick, which had embedded itself on his side, with a rather nasty squelch.

"So drop dead and cheer me up." Nero suggested.

Dante gestured carelessly at the skulking demons. "Came to join in the fun? Unfortunately, you've missed most of the welcoming committee… Or have you come for the prize?" His eyes flickered to Kyrie appreciatively and Nero's lips tightened. "Looks like I had the upper hand either way."

"Both of you stop it!" Lady yelled as all eyes were drawn to the two men. Kyrie moved forward to hold back Nero, her foot bumping against the forgotten gun. "Nero wait! Dante was just--"

"Really getting on my nerves." Nero's arm moved with lightening speed as he whipped out Blue Rose and pulled the trigger. A nanosecond later, Dante had replied with shots of his own, and bullet met bullet to a show of sparks.

Nero twisted Red Queen's handle around with a gunning roar and swung his blade a hair's breath away from Dante's torso.

Dante offered no resistance merely dancing away from the blade while smiling infuriatingly. "Come on big guy- show me what you got."

"Hand me another car and I will." Nero was so engrossed with trying to land a blow that he hardly noticed the puppet that was slowly making its way behind him….

"NO!" He glanced up and gave a startled yelp as Kyrie shot at him. As if in slow motion, he felt the tailwind of the bullets, saw a strand of his hair flutter to the ground, and heard a grunt as demon dust swirled around his feet.

Lady wasn't sure who looked more shocked between the wide-eyed Kyrie and the open-mouthed Nero.

But before anything more could be said, the shadows around them pulsed and more demons made themselves apparent through the darkness in an uncountable, suffocating mass. Nero instinctively moved towards Kyrie, acutely aware of the still groggy state of his body after the increased pill dosages, but grimly determined to kill every single one of these demons before he would let them so much as touch a strand of her hair.

"You know, as much as I'd like to kill you I think I'd like to kill those guys even more." Nero slid an earphone on with mocking indolence, Red Queen humming eagerly on his shoulder. "What do you say to postponing our fight for a bit and getting rid of these wastes of space?"

Dante smiled and unsheathed Rebellion so swiftly it sounded like it was singing. "Try to keep up."

* * *

**AN:** Ta-daaaah!! :D Nya- I love writing Dante and Nero conversations! They're so sarcastic and cool that I half-swoon just imagining them banter. I'm kinda worried that my fight scenes are starting to drag though, so I'll try to get to the other fun parts soon.

Unfortunately, I also had to cut this chapter a little shorter than usual because I have some bad news…

Exams are coming up O.O

It sucks but until exams finish, I'm either going to have to keep the chapters short or update slower- I'll let you wonderful reviewers decide. Thanks again to everyone who has read- especially those who have reviewed and been with me from the beginning.

**You guys are the BEST!!** _(Dante, Vergil and Nero plushies to all!! XD)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Lady leaned against the wall, feeling her arm throb painfully to the beat of her erratic pulse. She sighed, wondering how the two men had enough energy to spout macho witticisms and show off like that.

Nero's appearance had changed the tide of the entire battle. If they were fending off the demons before, now they were sending them to hell faster than the ugly things could climb out. There was a certain rivalry between the two men that spurred them on to crazier and more death-defying feats in an effort to best the other.

"What a night." Dante spoke lazily, holding a demon in mid-air with his relentless shots. "These things never give up do they?"

Nero backhanded a puppet and followed up with a shot from Blue Rose. "Tired? If you'd like to slow down the pace all you have to do is ask."

"'Tired'? Kid- this is what I live for!" Dante yelled cheerily at Nero with the tone usually reserved for patronizing younger siblings, before swinging his blade up with dreadful finality and sending the last cluster of demons back to hell.

Kyrie scanned the now empty road with relief, slowly lowering her aching arms. "They're gone."

"Yeah, fun's over." Nero marched up and put a firm hand on her shoulder. "You and I are going to go home- NOW."

Kyrie moved to hand the gun handle-first to Lady, before pausing and eying her worriedly. "Lady, are you sure you're all right?"

"Nothing a hot bath and a good night's rest won't fix." Lady took the offered gun with a smile. "We still have to work on your shots, but not bad for an beginner."

Dante winked. "See you kids later."

"Or not." Nero eyed Dante mistrustfully, steering Kyrie away. "Come on, let's bounce. Credo must be getting worried by now."

Kyrie looked over her shoulder and waved. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a movement in the alleyway. But before she could ascertain anything, Nero had already pulled her around the corner and out of its sight.

"Alright, now explain: What were you doing there and who were those people?"

Kyrie struggled to keep up with his long strides and explain the events that had let to the fight. Nero was an impatient listener, interrupting her at several points and making noises of displeasure at the mention of the white-haired demon hunter.

"…and that's when you came." Kyrie finished, glad for the red light that allowed her a moments rest. "That was excellent timing by the way. I wasn't sure for how much longer I could keep up with them. How did you know I was there in the first place?"

Nero hailed a taxi upon noticing her start to lag behind. "I'm not sure. Today was wild with calls from all over town, with complaints of demons. I was just finished an assignment when I felt like I should've been somewhere else…" He stared absently at his hands. "So I went- and came just in time to see that bleach-headed guy try a move on you."

"You're fair-haired yourself." Kyrie reminded him as she slid into the cab.

"Hey- I'm the original." He sniffed. "I bet his isn't even a natural white."

Kyrie smiled and leant her head against his shoulder, stifling a yawn. Nero shifted slightly to support her warm weight before turning his attention to the passing road.

Kyrie couldn't stop her eyes from fluttering close. So tired…

Her sleep-clouded mind returned to the memory of the movement at the alleyway. There was something vaguely important about that, the still conscious part of her mind insisted, some small factor that demanded her complete attention.

Kyrie struggled to remember, refusing rest until her scattered thoughts focused on a single, unexceptional detail.

Blue.

The figure in the alleyway was wearing blue.

With a breathy sigh, Kyrie allowed herself over to a dreamless sleep.

**AN:**

Again, I apologize for the really short (...and late..) update- but I promise a looong chapter as soon as exams finish!

Um... think of this as the appetizer before the main course! XD

And you may also have noticed that I've changed the summary for this story- and let me explain that although I love Nero, I like the whacky pairings on the side even more…

It's like how people like French fries but I prefer onion rings (Dipped in root beer float…yummy…) so the less canon the pairing the better!

Sorry if I've disappointed any NeroxKyrie shippers out there- but rest assured that they'll have their fair share of cotton-candy fluff here. I've always found Vergil the most intriguing character in the whole DMC series, so when I found out that Nero and he were bound together in some way- my mind started spinning this plot before I could stop it. I'll do my best to keep everyone in character and make this pairing work- and I hope for all your continued support.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Unbeknown to the hundreds of oblivious humans living in the city, there was an entirely different world just downtown at the heart of the slums. Anyone with an inch of common sense avoided the entrance to The Underground, which was not a place for anyone without some drop of magic in their veins or at least a sword at their side. Non-humans were rampant here, and it was a place to meet, sell black market items, buy information or get killed, depending on how unlucky you were.

Although the pathways were narrow, people and shadows alike quickly made way for the imposing son of Sparda. Vergil entered one of the quieter roads, relaxing slightly as the hustle and bustle of the main road with its clubs and merchant stalls faded away. He followed the road all the way to a dilapidated building. There was no visible sign on its front door, nor any way to distinguish what went on inside its walls but for an air of solemn remembering that characterized only the greatest libraries in the world.

Vergil entered the building, deliberate footsteps echoing across the cold marble floors. This was the home to thousands of tomes so ancient they would crumble into dust upon contact with the outside air, a storehouse of knowledge that would have satisfied even the thirstiest mind.

Vergil let his hand brush across the spines of ancient texts and books as he walked past, relishing their familiar touch. Odd how nothing seemed to change here- as if time had no hold in this place of memories. It was as if he was still seventeen years old, searching for answers to his past and the father he barely remembered.

He had been a naïve, idealistic youth- doing anything for the chance that he might regain the power that was his by birthright. It was here too that he met Arkham, a human with a soul as twisted and black as the devil. He had been swayed by Arkham's honeyed tongue, helping to raise Temen-Ni-Guru only to pay the price of his arrogance with his fall to hell.

Vergil shook off dark thoughts and veered a sharp left to enter a small gap through the shelves. This was a place for answers, not regrets.

"Scholar."

A wizened old man gave a start, upsetting the piles of notes and scrolls that were stacked haphazardly on the table he had been hunched over. When he realized who had spoken, a kindly smile creased his wrinkled face. "It's been a long time Master Vergilus. How has life been?"

"Tolerable." Vergil nodded curtly. "I have need for some information."

"Don't we all." The Scholar replied affably, stooping over and restacking the papers with practiced ease. "It has been terribly lonely here without you young master. No creature has entered these halls since you've left… It is as if no one knows how to read anymore! Alas- gone are the days of wisdom and learning." He paused and peered at Vergil from beneath crooked glasses. "Forgive me, I do tend to ramble on. What did you say you wished to know…?"

Vergil steeled himself. Now things would get a little complicated... "Just point me out to the section concerning… attraction."

"'Attraction'?" The old man's silver brows rose alarming heights. "I am certain it is none of my concern, but if the young master is trying to woo a lady then there is no happiness to be found in-"

"It's not that." Vergil snapped. This was going a lot harder than he expected. "All I need to know is how to stop it."

The frown was quickly replaced by a grin. "My dear boy- it is no shame to fall in love! Why, when I was still but a lad-"

"That is none of my concern." Vergil restrained the urge to kill someone. "Her hold on me is not emotional- it is sheer manipulation."

"Ah." The Scholar looked slightly disappointed. "Can you please specify what kind of… bond do you believe has been formed?" A keen look of interest crossed his face.

Vergil's scowl deepened. "You don't have to know anything other than I can discern her location when she's in trouble." hikfyhjkh

"I see." The Scholar rose from his seat and dusted his robes. "If that is the case, then I believe I have just the right books for you at the section 725. If you would please follow me."

The old man led Vergil deeper into the library, the iron fetters around his ankles clunking noisily.

"Here you go Master Vergilus. I would suggest you look at other synonyms of attraction… magnet may haps?" The Scholar's eyes twinkled merrily. "I wish you luck with your interesting dilemma. If I may be so bold to add: please stay for as long as you like. It truly does this old man good to know some one else is in this dusty place."

And dragging his chains behind him, the Scholar left Vergil with a wistful smile and wave.

* * *

Agnus's fingers danced across the keyboard, his monocle catching the light from the computer screen in an eerie fashion. He sat in total darkness but for the glow of the monitors and various other machinery that lined the steel walls.

"Everything is coming around smoothly. Nero seems to have full control over his motor functions even through the suppressors. We've taken the necessary blood samples and we can confirm the match today." He glanced at a black velvet couch whose occupant lay untouched by the dim light.

There was a rustle of silk and a bare foot hung was moved into the edges of the light. "Do it now Agnus. My darling and I are getting impatient."

"As you wish."

Agnus rose and limped his way to a panel in the wall, punching in various numbers. There was a low clunk as heavy volts unlatched themselves, and the wall slid silently to the side.

Cryogenic mist seeped around his feet, parting in hazy tendrils as he walked towards a dark cavity in the center of the room. Stopping just short of its edge, Agnus pulled out a vial of blood from his pocket and with eager fingers, began to unstopper it. Then, with fearful devotion, he let three drops fall into the gaping chasm below.

Instantly, the temperature dropped several degrees below freezing and Agnus fell back as if struck by some invisible force. From below came the screech of claws scraping against glass, as if some manner of beast had been stirred awake and restless.

Then, came a low rasp that brought chills to even Agnus' spine.

'…bring me the boy….'

Tanned legs stepped over Agnus' prostrate form.

"Soon darling," The woman cooed, stroking the edges of the cavity soothingly. "The preparations are almost complete. We'll be together. Soon."

Agnus crawled to his knees and hurriedly left the woman to her devoted vigil.

He rode the lift, trembling with mixed anxiety and anticipation. There was something unspeakably twisted about that scene that twisted his insides with disgust… but promise of power was too much for his weak soul. Once it was raised, she had promised to give Agnus the only gift that had truly mattered: immortality. With these thoughts, Agnus entered his cover-up doctor's office and looked at the mediocrity of it all with a curled lip.

All of a sudden the door slammed open and Credo stormed in the room. "You and your demons-!"

"Get yourself under c-c-control." Agnus gave Credo a disdainful look. "What is it this time?"

"Go ahead and test the boy if you have to; go ahead and summon your demons for whatever sick experiments- but I warned you not to let it get out of hand." Credo's hand was gripping the hilt of his sword with barely controlled fury. "Innocent people have died yesterday because of your laxness—my own sister was attacked!"

Agnus sighed and took a seat behind the desk. "Sacrifices have to be made for the good of many-"

"Don't speak to me of sacrifices!" Credo roared, his blade out and inches from Agnus' neck before the doctor could blink. "Not when you know nothing of the word!"

"And you d-d-do?" Agnus pushed the blade back with infuriating calm. "We are not as different as you think. You and I desire something that only those two can give. For all your righteous and inane obsession with the people of the city- you know yourself that you can only protect if you kill."

Credo bristled. "What I do and what you do are two completely different things! You work for your own gain while I… I…"

"Not so different." Agnus repeated softly. Credo's knuckles whitened as he pushed the blade closer towards the doctor's collar.

"Play nice now." A throaty voice purred from behind them and the two turned to see the woman exit the lift.

"Gloria." Credo smoothly resheathed his blade.

"Good day Credo. Not having doubts I hope." Gloria smiled beatifically.

"I am loyal to the cause." Credo bowed stiffly. "However, I must insist that better care be taken when summoning demons."

"Of course. Agnus will see to that immediately; won't you dear?"

"O-of course. Immediately." Agnus swept out of the room without another word.

"Have a seat Credo." Gloria leaned against the table, crossing her long legs. "I understand exactly what you're going through. You're the General of the Sword, leader of the police' s special forces, sworn to protect the people from harm. Honorable, noble, good-intentioned Credo…" Her voice was like silk over a knife's edge. "No one knows the pressures you face and the hard decisions you've had to make. It takes a great man to handle it all, and you have done admirably well."

"I… I thank you for your kind words." Credo murmured almost shame-facedly. "It's just that I feared for my sister's life and…"

"Indeed." Gloria nodded sympathetically. "Your sister. Your last remaining kin. Agnus was wrong- both of you are two completely different people. Don't forget Credo, you're doing this for the ones you love. For your people. For your friends. For your sister."

Credo's shoulders slumped. "I know. But sometimes I wonder if …"

"Shhh…" Gloria moved around the table to stand behind his chair. Credo didn't move.

"I understand." Her breath tickled his ear as she whispered. "But sometimes, a little evil is necessary for the greater good. And isn't this what we're doing it for? The greater good?"

Credo heaved a shuddering sigh and rose to his feet. "You're right. I apologize for my unprofessional behavior. If you'll excuse me, I'll go straight to the police station and clean up yesterday's cases."

"By all means." Gloria gestured languorously and Credo bowed before exiting the room.

* * *

**AN:** Yaaaaaaay! Here's a semi-long chapter to make up for the last one!

Okay- now things will get a titchy bit confusing… Just remember: AU! All things will be explained in due time XD Let's just get it clear that Gloria and Trish are two completely different characters, and no- Trish has not gone bad.

I love you guys for being so open-minded about the pairing! Rest assured that Vergil will stay the dark-chocolate character he really is (because why mess with perfection?).

Again darling reviewers, I take my hat off to you guys. I know how tiring it can be to click that little button and I appreciate it more than words can say. Thank you!!


	8. Where Truth is Stranger than Fiction

**Chapter 8**

Kyrie looked around at the counter, searching for the spatula, which kept on mysteriously vanishing every time she needed it. Shaking her head and looking puzzled, Kyrie turned back to her batter and had to resort to mixing it with a spoon.

"What 'cha doing?" Nero popped his head in the kitchen.

"I wanted to bake some get well cookies for Lady- do you think she'll like chocolate chip?" Kyrie began to carefully spoon the dough unto the cookie sheet.

"I know I would…" He trailed off, brightening as Kyrie pulled out a paper bag from behind the counter that looked close to bursting.

"I already had a head-start on yours. Thank you for yesterday Nero." Kyrie smiled, watching as he broke the teddy bear sticker she had used to seal the bag and quickly dug in.

"Mm…! No one bakes cookies like you do." He chewed appreciatively. "Ever consider selling these things? I'll buy a truck-full."

"You're biased." She pulled on oven mitts and picked up the tray. "Besides- I've never met anyone with your appetite before. I'll expect you to buy two trucks."

"Done. I better get a discount though- I doubt my salary would be up for that kind of abuse." Nero pulled open the oven door and Kyrie pushed the tray in. "…you better not be giving Dante any." He added after a thoughtful pause.

"Hm," She made a non-committal noise, "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I heard that Credo's making you wait for the door repairman so I just wanted to pop by and see how you were doing before I left." He leaned against the kitchen table, licking a chocolate covered finger. "After all, if you were under attack again and died because I wasn't here to save you- I'd have to find someone else to wash my socks for me."

"A tragedy, I'm sure." Kyrie replied dryly.

"It is. I like how you roll them into those little balls. Still don't know how or why you do it- but I like 'em."

_BEEEEP! BEEEEEP! BEEEEP!_

"Oh bother," Kyrie turned around to see the oven smoking. "The cookie sheet must have stuck to the back again."

"I'll get it." Nero rose smoothly and pulled the oven door open. He reached in unthinkingly, and hissed in pain as the hot metal rack touched his bare forearm.

"Nero!" Kyrie turned the tap on and he stuck his left arm under the cool water, both ignoring the insistent beep of the fire alarm.

The pale flesh of his forearm had turned an angry red.

"Owwie…" Kyrie murmured sympathetically.

Nero shrugged. "Ah, it'll heal. It was a stupid thing to do anyway."

She peered at the skin that was showing signs of blistering. "It was a good thing your hand wasn't burned. That glove… Hey, why do you never take that thing off anyway?"

"It adds to my charm." Nero replied breezily, tucking said hand safely out of sight. "Can we turn that alarm off now?"

While Kyrie opened the window and allowed fresh air to waft into the room, Nero watched as the redness turned into a blister and just as quickly faded away back into unblemished skin. The entire healing process took less than a minute, and he ran a gloved finger across his skin thoughtfully.

"Huh? But I thought…" Kyrie's gaze fastened on Nero's arm.

"Well, it wasn't as bad as it looked." He spoke blithely, but Kyrie didn't looked convinced.

"Well, I'm glad it turned out to be nothing." She replied doubtfully. "But that really looked like a bad burn a while ago…"

"Nope- still good and healthy." Nero raised an eyebrow. "Come on- what's with that face?"

Kyrie silently reached out and wound her fingers around that of his gloved hand. Nero gave a start, but couldn't find the strength to pull away from her delicate hold. Her hand seemed fragile in comparison to his- but he was completely and utterly subdued in her tiny grasp.

"I know there's a lot of things friends can't tell each other, like the whole picking up a car and throwing it effortlessly thing," She shook her head as Nero opened his mouth to interrupt. "But whatever happens, whatever secrets we _need_ to keep, I just wanted to say... I trust you."

"I know," Nero felt a weight in his chest as he gently pulled away. "It's me I don't trust."

* * *

.

Vergil allowed himself a weary sigh as he returned the thirty-fifth book about magical bonds he had skimmed through that that night. None had been helpful with his particular situation and his patience was fast evaporating.

This was getting ridiculous. He hated any show of weakness but lately it was as if he had no control over his actions when it came to dealing with her.

The idea that she had some unusual and unwanted hold on him made his skin crawl. He had had no intention of being anybody's puppet- not after he had just come back into freedom.

Yesterday's events had only further strengthened his suspicions of Kyrie not being entirely normal.

After leaving her at the house, Vergil had gone to the northernmost part of town slaying the occasional group of demons that had the misfortune to cross his path.

He was just in the middle of a fight when all of a sudden the ground beneath his feet gave way. It was as if some invisible barrier had fallen all at once and he could see further and more clearly than he had ever seen before. He could distinguish every yellowing bone and claw, every ragged thread of the Hell Pride's dark garments, and every notch on their rusty blades in more detail than ever. But at the same instant, there was an urgency to leave as an inexplicable anxiety flooded his mind.

She needed him.

Vergil stumbled slightly.

He quickly composed himself and, annoyed that these demons had seen him at a moment of weakness, swiftly cut them to dust.

The need to protect the girl had overcome all sense and reason, and he had found himself racing through the city, drawn towards a place he somehow knew she would be. Several groups of demons had appeared to block his path, but Vergil passed them with a few well-controlled strokes of his blade. He had no time to deal with distractions- not when his careful reserve of energy was fast depleting.

He had arrived at the scene in time to see Dante throw an arm around her waist and he had to restrain himself from marching over and breaking his younger brother's arm. Although he had to admit that it was not unusual for him to want to break Dante's arm in the first place- but to actually have a reason for doing so was just strange.

Before he could move however, a car had slammed into Dante's smug face and a boy had marched in from the other side of the road to join in the tussle.

Vergil had watched them battle from the shadows of the street side, thoughtfully studying the new comer who handled the fight with commendable aplomb. The boy had considerable talent, but moved sluggishly and was too concentrated on the area near Kyrie. He would have mocked this display of overprotective ness; that is if he wasn't feeling the same reluctance to let her out of his sight.

Kyrie and the boy left soon after, and it was at this point that he had regained sufficient control over himself to pad away and conclude that there was something very wrong with the way he reacted to that girl.

It had been twice now that he had rushed to her rescue without even meaning to; this loss of self-possession that he had always prided himself upon was starting to unnerve him greatly.

The usual approach he took whenever something annoyed him would be to hack at it with his sword. But as the problem was that he was obligated by some unknown force to _protect_ her in the first place, Vergil supposed that he needed to take a more subtle approach.

He pulled out a book at random, grimly determined not to rest until he could find the answers he needed. Vergil flipped through the pages until a chapter title caught his eye.

Jackpot.

Vergil's focus turned completely to the book in his hand as he read the short section.

_**Demon Magnets**_

_For reasons unexplained, Darkness has always sought out the Light._

_Embodying this, Demon Magnets are humans with the ability to summon creatures from the demon world. This ability to summon is usually awakened when the subject reaches the latter part of adolescence or when introduced to areas of high magical concentration. _

_Upon their awakening, Demon Magnets are said to develop bonds with the first demon summoned, otherwise known as a Consort. This symbiotic bond is said to obligate the Consort to protect and defend the Magnet, in return for the Magnet's amplification of the Consort's abilities. Power from other demons can also be channeled to the Consort, in order to champion the Demon Magnet effectively. _

_Most Demon Magnets do not usually survive to adulthood, due to their untimely summons and the way they attract attention from other demons living in the vicinity. _

Vergil scanned the page once more, a frown creasing his brow.

That was it? Where was the cure part?

Vergil tucked the book within his trench coat and resumed his search with renewed vigor.

Demon Magnet, huh? He did have a bad habit of getting caught up with one legend to another… just once though, it would be nice to have been asked for permission before being thrown into another life-complicating situation.

Vergil allowed himself a moments respite from the twelve-hour search he had been doing, and closed his eyes.

For some strange reason, a chocolate chip cookie sounded really good right now…

* * *

Moonlight reached for the sleeping figure on the couch, playing across long blonde tresses and tracing the marble curve of her cheek. She lay in complete silence, a figure as still as death except for her eyelids which flickered with uneasy dreams.

Suddenly, Trish's eyes snapped open.

She sat up and pressed a hand on her temple, a look of pain crossing her face.

It couldn't be… They had lost all contact since the time under Mundus. There was no reason for her to be here at all. It… it must have been a dream. Yes, that was it. A dream.

Trish got to her feet gracefully, making her way out the door of the agency and unto the lonely streets.

The wind was chilly, but she didn't feel the cold as she wandered aimlessly about.

She shut her eyes against the sudden onslaught of emotions. Trish had tried so hard to sever all ties from the past that she didn't know what to make of this sudden resurgence of old feelings and memories.

She couldn't help but wince as a picture of the captors of her past came unbidden to her mind's eye: Mundus. Phantom. Griffon. Nelo Angelo. And finally there was…

Trish stopped short and pressed her hand against her forehead in an effort to calm her troubled thoughts.

The best moment of her life had been when Dante had sent Mundus back where he belonged, and his hold over them had disappeared. When Trish no longer felt any trace of the one creature that had instilled a fear so deep it had resulted in a twisted loyalty, she wept for a joy she still thought she did not deserve.

Life had begun when she met Dante.

Shopping with Lady, bantering with Dante, hunting demons, saving lives, and getting used to the greasy pizza after-taste: Trish finally felt like she belonged somewhere.

"I won't go back." She swore quietly. "Sorry Gloria, but it's about time I walked out of your shadow."

"A pity."

Trish inclined her head in graceful recognition at Gloria who stepped out into the lamplight.

"I was so hoping to have you back again sister." Gloria's voice was a dangerous purr. "Remember the good old days with Mundus? Of course, I was surprised to find out that you had a hand in his send-off…"

"Well, all good things have to come to an end." Trish replied.

"There's no reason they have to." Gloria stopped in front of Trish and moved to embrace her. Trish gave an involuntary shiver that made Gloria freeze in mid-action, her fingertips inches from the blonde girl's arm.

"We were once the best of friend's- do you remember Trish?" Her voice was wistful. "We used to tend to each other's hurts and share everything from weapons to shampoo and kills. Mundus made us together- at the same time, out of the same breath. Even if I don't understand why you decided to side with that demon hunter, it doesn't mean its final."

Trish felt a strange burning by her eyes, something she had come to associate with tears. "Gloria-"

"I will absolve all your sins." Gloria plowed on. "I will forgive everything and wipe away even the memory of the past. We can all start again. We've missed you so much dear. Just say the word and we'll do it all over. Just say the word…"

"No."

Her quiet reply cut through Gloria's impassioned speech. Gloria blinked, looking as if she had just woken up from a once cherished dream to find it turned into a nightmare.

"'No'…?" She repeated slowly, disbelievingly.

Trish raised her golden head. "You may not have heard Gloria, but I fight for the humans now. What we were doing under Mundus was wrong and now my soul demands that I make it right." Her lips curved into a hint of a smile. "Weak as them may be, someone has to keep them alive."

"Soul?" Gloria hissed, "You have no soul. Did you forget sister?" She turned heel and stalked off towards the end of the road, before pausing and looking back, her colorless eyes flashing brightly in the darkness. "Tell me dear, this Dante character… what can he give you that Mundus and I can not?"

Trish stared sorrowfully at her sister, knowing that the next time they faced each other, blood would have to be shed. "He offered me a reason to live. I took it."

Gloria gave a curt nod and leapt into the darkness, leaving Trish colder than she had ever felt before.

* * *

.

**AN: **I'M SO SORRY! I really am- forgive me for not updating sooner—FORGIVE MEEEE!

Ahem. Anyway, I hope this chapter cleared things up a little more!

My greatest thanks to all of you who read and reviewed, especially to** Mazda Kitsune** (Glad you liked it!), **Gotta Dance 88** (Thank you!), **Hao is Hot **(Hehe- well, he doesn't actually love her... yet.), **Doujinshi Artist** (XD), **Belladonna Isabella** (Don't worry- I agree wholeheartedly! Having Vergil go and actually admit that he cared for someone would be too OC this early in the story... thanks for pointing that out!) **Krylancelo **and **The Black Inferno Alchemist**, (Hehe- here, both of you have a dark chocolate bar and bask in the glory that is Vergil XD), **Takuma** (Um, I apologize for any misunderstandings- but Vergil is one of the main characters in my story o.o I appreciate your honesty and I'll understand if you stop reading… thank you for all your reviews!).**Yuuko** (Nope- no long name for Dante. Don't worry- only the old dude calls him that anyway), **Clairavance** (You always know what to say to cheer me up! Thanks!).

Well, what else can I say?

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.


	9. Setting the Stage

**(Drumroll please) Chapter Nine:**

* * *

**  
**

Yesterday had not been fun for Dante. Not fun at all.

After the fight, Dante had to take Lady to a clinic- by force. After much swearing and nail digging from her part, he had finally managed to get her there and back to the house, where the sleeping pills finally took effect and lulled the still scowling Lady to sleep on the couch.

Of course, this was not before she had shot him thrice and scorched the front of his second favorite coat (his favorite coat had been shredded beyond recognition long ago) with a haphazardly aimed blast from Kalina Ann.

Lady had to be the toughest and most kick-butt mortal he had ever met in all his life and sometimes it was easy to forget she was just that: mortal. The doctor had said that she needed to take it easy for a while, but knowing Lady, she was bound to be up and shooting as soon as night fell.

Still, Dante was compelled to try and prolong the crazy human's life for as long as he possibly could- so he pulled a blanket over Lady's shoulders and settled on the lumpy armchair for the night.

It wasn't long before he dozed off, only to wake up in an ungodly hour to the familiar sound of a pistol click.

Dante rubbed a crick out of his neck, gazing blearily at the white-clad woman who was taking back her guns and slinging Kalina Ann on her good shoulder.

"What 'cha doing…? The doctor said you're not allowed to be up yet…" He yawned, trying to get comfortable again.

Lady let out a few choice words to describe exactly how she felt about the doctor before shooting him again and storming out the room.

_That_ had effectively shattered all plans for sleeping in the day.

Although the sun was quickly climbing its zenith, Dante refused to move from his sulk on the couch, opting to stare moodily at his bullet-torn trench coat and rub his forehead instead.

"Damn- those bullets really hurt."

The front door opened with a cheerful click, and the scent of sunshine and cookies wafted into the room.

"Good morni…" Kyrie peered in the doorway, her smile changing to concern at his battered appearance. "Dante! Are you alright?"

"No." He sulked, looking more like a tetchy eight-year old than a legendary demon hunter. "I'm tired and hungry and my head hurts because Lady likes using me as target practice."

"Lady shot you?" Kyrie sounded shocked.

"Thrice." He confirmed. So he wasn't above playing the sympathy card… well, there were more pathetic things in life.

"Poor Dante," Kyrie cooed, her maternal instincts taking over immediately. "Why don't you lie down? I'll go cook you a big lunch then you can go back to your room for a well-deserved nap. Go on - just take off your boots and rest your head."

And Dante did so, enjoying the sudden outpour of attention he received. Pillows were plumped out to cradle his head and feet while a blanket had appeared to drape over his legs and the remote control was placed in easy reach of his hand.

Kyrie had retreated to the kitchen and a mouthwatering scent both spicy and sweet soon filled the air. The half-demon sniffed the air appreciatively and found himself feeling full of goodwill for every being on earth that could cook.

"The stew's almost done!" Kyrie called out from within the kitchen. "I had to improvise a bit since there wasn't much food in the cupboard, but it should turn out alright."

"Well, I haven't eaten anything but pizza since I was 16 – and that smell is making me regret it now." Dante gave a languid stretch, as he dropped the remote on the coffee table upon reaching the Disney channel. "Woah- Donald Duck's on!"

The scent of stew filled the air as Kyrie walked over with a precariously balanced tray in her hands. "Here you go! Eat as much as you can – there's more in the kitchen."

Dante sat up eagerly. He swept the pile of magazines off the table with a lazy kick (much to Kyrie's dismay) and took the tray from her with one hand. "Oh man Kyrie- this looks good! Do you cater? I'll hire you here and now if you do."

"You have hired me," She reminded him, primly spreading a napkin on his lap. "I'll start leaving food in the fridge from now on if you wish."

"I BISH!!!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full- and chew before you swallow please." Kyrie began to plump the pillows and smoothed the edges of the blanket. "If you continue to be good, I'll give you some cookies for dessert."

Dante nodded vigorously. "Iwe be goob! Iwe be goob!"

Kyrie beamed. "Alright, I'll just warm up the cookies then."

She rose and caught sight of Vergil who was standing stock-still in the doorway, his eyebrows raised to amazing heights. "Vergil!"

Dante grinned at his older brother. "Yo Verge! I'm getting cookies!"

"…Hm."

"Would you like some too?" Kyrie turned the same bright smile on him, and he experienced a disconcerting self-consciousness. "I baked some this morning and they taste really good with coffee. They're--"

"Chocolate chip." He spoke with sudden understanding.

"That's right." Kyrie looked pleased. "If you'd like some…"

"I don't like sweets." Vergil replied abruptly.

She clasped her hands behind her back, looking slightly abashed. "Oh… Okay then…"

"Don't waste your time on that guy Kyrie. Heat up the cookies and watch some TV with me!" Dante patted the space next to him with an inviting grin.

Vergil glanced at the tiny couch and found that he did not like the idea of leaving her together with his infamous flirt of a brother. "…Coffee sounds good though."

"Coming right up!" Why did she have to look so happy? – Vergil wondered. "Are you certain you don't want any cookies?"

"Coffee." He dropped gracefully on the armchair. "No milk."

Kyrie left for the kitchen as Dante gave a happy shrug and returned to his show, continuing to scarf down his meal with a speed and appetite that made his older brother queasy.

Vergil turned his attention to the screen, a look of disgust crossing his face.

"…Donald Duck. I hate Donald Duck."

"What?!" Dante turned his head indignantly, spraying pieces of undistinguishable foodstuffs into the air. "But he rocks! There's nothing better on a rainy day than to bum indoors with cartoons on the tube… Sides, he wears blue. I thought you liked blue."

Vergil stared at his brother. "How did you know I liked blue?"

A broad grin crossed the devil hunter's face. "Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? You're really going for the monochrome look."

Vergil raised an eyebrow. "What are you – a fashion expert now?"

"Me? I'm God's gift to woman kind." Dante turned back to his show smugly. "Gotta pay attention to these kinda stuff too ya know."

Vergil shifted slightly, unsure of what to make of the strangely domestic, and for once, peaceful atmosphere. He couldn't remember the last time he and Dante had been left alone in a room without an exchange of a death threat and some broken bones. This amiable Dante, who acted like the brother of his childhood, unnerved him more than the usual vein-pulsing, irate Dante wielding Rebellion rival of the present.

"Ah… So remind me again why there's no woman here you don't pay to stay?" The insult came out before he could stop it.

Raw hurt flashed across Dante's face before being covered up with forced carelessness, but that split second vulnerability didn't escape Vergil's notice.

He knew that Dante had still harbored hopes of salvaging the tattered remains of the family they once had, naively hoping that they could start all over again. Dante had been there from the moment he had woken up from his months long sleep, and had been attentive to his every need. But the unexpected kindness had made Vergil more skittish than if he was showered with the abuse or blame he had expected to receive. So he hid behind his whipping wit and stoic façade, driving Dante, Lady and Trish as far away as he could.

He could handle hate.

He deserved to be lonely.

But the stubborn fool, who was unfortunately his brother, refused to take the hint. Even after every verbal abuse and violent demonstration, Dante continued to face Vergil with his dauntless grin. Vergil wasn't certain what exasperated him more: Dante's willful disregard of the fact that they had once become enemies, or the fact that there was this voice in his head that told him he needed this reconciliation more than Dante did.

Before Dante could open his mouth to retort, Vergil had snatched the remote from the couch's arm and began flipping through the channels.

"Hey! Some of us were watching that!"

"Well, some of us don't matter."

"Verge – gimme back the remote!"

"No. Get your own."

"That IS mine!"

Kyrie smiled at the sight of the two men squabbling over the channels, with Dante button mashing the controls on the television and Vergil pushing the remote's buttons with the appearance of calm, but no less fervor. She set the tray down on the coffee table with a muted thunk, eyes fixed on the screen.

"Ooh – is that Pride and Prejudice?"

The two paused their channel surfing battle to stare at the screen with looks of mingled horror and disgust.

"A chick flick?" Dante groaned.

"No." Vergil agreed firmly.

"It has a really interesting plotline." Kyrie insisted, curling up in her chair and looking absorbedly at the screen. "Look – that's Darcy, the dashing, conveniently available bachelor and …"

Somehow, the two brothers couldn't find it in themselves to change the channel with the rapturous look on the girl's face. Dante gave a breathy sigh and dropped back unto the couch, while Vergil silently nursed his cup of coffee.

"At least we get cookies." Dante popped one in his mouth and chewed mournfully.

"Shhh!"

* * *

"Heads up!"

Credo threw Nero an exasperated look, quickly sidestepping the Hell Pride that the younger man had launched his way.

Credo's blade ripped a through the air and the last demon tottered unsteadily on its feet before exploding into dust.

"Are you usually this reckless?" Credo looked disapproving.

"'Course not. What ever gave you that idea?" Nero swung his sword into its case with one lazy movement. "So, why the sudden urge to tag? As you can see I'm perfectly capable of fighting off these uglies."

"I have some business here myself." Credo wiped his blade with a handkerchief before resheathing it. "There's someone I have to meet..."

"Wait - you mean like on a date?" Nero asked incredulously. "With an actual girl?"

There was a throaty chuckle. "Well, Credo's quite the charmer when he wants to be."

The two turned sharply to see Gloria approach, walking casually through the remains of the battle.

She gave Nero a predatory smile and put a carefully manicured hand on his arm. "Nero... I've heard good things about you." She purred. "The name's Gloria."

Her proximity made his stomach lurch uncomfortably, and he felt the hairs on his nape rise. "…Right." Nero turned away to look at the floor where a Hell Pride lay on its death throes, ignoring Credo's disapproving glare and Gloria's throaty chuckle.

"Well aren't you the bad boy." She raised one stiletto-ed foot and brought it down with lightening speed on the fallen Hell Pride. There was a dull crack as its neck broke and it shuddered once before sifting into dust. Nero's head shot up, his eyebrows raised in surprise at the venom of her actions. "Lucky me. I'm a bad girl too." She winked.

Nero couldn't help it. He blushed. "Look here– "

"High Priestess Gloria has been sent by his Holiness to investigate the sudden spikes in demon activity concentrated in the city." Credo interrupted. "She has asked me to bring her to the haunts of the city, but no one knows them better than you do."

"So what do you say boy? Feel up to giving me a tour of your lovely city?" Gloria's icy eyes glittered with humor.

Nero shouldered the case of his blade and scowled.

He had always been somewhat of a lone wolf even in the task force, choosing to work on assignments alone, and the load itself had never left him much time for socializing. In fact, he could barely remember the last time he had talked to any woman aside from the demure, unpretentious Kyrie – definitely a far cry from the wily Gloria whose every move seemed calculated to seduce.

He glared at Credo, who dutifully ignored him, and heaved an impatient sigh.

"Whatever. Let's get this over with."

* * *

AN: I LIIIIIIIVVVVVEEEEE!!!!!!!

I'MSORRYI'MSORRYI'MSORRYI'MSORRY!!! I can't believe how long of a break I took. It's just that college applications and the final exam reviews are taking up so much time and will to live (ARGH!) that I just haven't had time to write. Rest assured though, I'll never abandon this ficcy – and I'll post up the next chapter soon just to prove it! I'm really sorry for taking so long...

I also apologize, but I think I'll be flooding people's inbox with updates in a little while. I thought some parts needed desperate tweaking, hence I'll be revamping a couple of chapters sometime this week.

So… anybody wanna welcome me back?


	10. The Heart of a Woman

**Chapter 10**

'_Pathetic.'_

Vergil contemplated on how the sons of Sparda could sink so low as to actually watch – oh horrors of all horrors – a romance on some stoic idiot called Darcy and a rash, emotional girl called Elizabeth…

…and enjoy it.

Ten minutes into the film, Dante had quit complaining and had actually begun to ask Kyrie questions relevant to the movie. She answered him with the infinite patience of someone used to explaining shows to inattentive children, and, to his chagrin, even Vergil found himself showing mild interest at the plot.

'_Dad would be rolling in his grave if he could see us now.'_

Elizabeth had just begun to read the letter Darcy had thrust into her hands, when the phone rang shrilly. When nobody moved after two rings, Kyrie gave a sigh of defeat and rose to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Kyrie." Lady sounded irate. "Is Dante there?"

"Yes, hold on." Kyrie looked at Dante who was sprawled on the couch. "It's Lady…"

"Nu-uh, I'm not speaking to her until she grovels." He gave a sullen shrug, glaring at the television.

She returned to the phone. "Um… do you have a message for him?"

"Tell that idiot that he better not still be sulking – and that has the keys to the Agency so he better get his butt down here before I shoot him to kingdom come." Lady growled back.

Kyrie covered the mouthpiece. "Lady just wanted to check how you were doing, and she's asking if you could go over to the agency and please unlock the doors."

Vergil, who was near enough to hear Lady's voice on the phone, raised an eyebrow.

Dante gave a languid stretch. "Tell her to open it herself. It's cold out there and she expects me to open doors for her?"

"Lady?" Kyrie lowered her voice. "…He said don't stay out in the cold for long."

"He did huh?" Lady sounded slightly mollified. "Whatever. I'll be at front so just tell that guy to hurry up."

"Lady said that she'd really appreciate it if you would go, and that she'll be waiting for you at front." Kyrie hung up and Dante gave her a suspicious look.

"That sounds too nice to be Lady."

"It's what she means though. You have to learn to read the heart of a woman." Kyrie gave him her most winning smile. "So you'll go right?"

Dante heaved a sigh and rose to his feet. "Might as well. I do have a couple of cases to wrap up."

"Take care," Kyrie handed the demon hunter his coat. "I'll leave you something nice for dinner."

"That better be a promise." Dante winked. "See you later babe."

The front door slammed behind Dante's back.

"'The heart of a woman'?" Vergil broke the silence.

"I merely paraphrased a little." Kyrie gave him a guilty grin as she retreated into the kitchen. "Now, what to cook…"

* * *

The setting sun painted the sky an ominous blood red.

"Here?" Nero skidded the car to a stop in a perfectly performed parallel park against the sidewalk.

"Yes. Based on register yesterday, this was where we first received the calls complaining about demon activity. This should be the epicenter." Credo exited the car, wrinkling his nose at the smell of burnt tires and glowering disapprovingly at the skid marks on the pavement. "…Remind me to revoke your license later."

"A bell tower. How quaint." Gloria's frosty eyes glimmered strangely in the light.

The three gazed up at the stone hewn tower wrought with black iron railing. It had a simple, no-nonsense design, as if the architect formed it for function rather than aesthetics. Its only ornament, a rather grotesque statue of an angel wrapped with chains, was perched upon the jutted sill of the bell window. The tower stood starkly out of place from the modern styled houses and apartment buildings, like a tarnished glass piece amongst plastic baubles.

"Locked." Nero tried the iron gate with a rattle. He shifted his weight on one leg and was about to lift his foot up when he caught Credo's stare. "Uh… permission to kick it open?"

"Denied." Credo spoke curtly. "I'll find the caretaker."

He marched off, only to hesitate and give Nero a weary look over his shoulder. "Be polite."

Gloria waited until Credo turned the corner before slamming a high-heeled foot against the rusty gate. The bolt gave way with a loud protest, swinging open to reveal the unevenly paved pathway that led to the bell tower.

"I rank higher than him." She smugly told Nero, setting down the path with sashaying steps.

Nero hesitated at the gateway, some instinct telling him not to stay alone with the provocative Gloria. Her blatant flirting and pointed stares had put him on the edge and he couldn't wait to escape her overbearing presence.

She looked back as if sensing his hesitation and curled her painted lips. "What's the matter boy? Don't tell me your waiting for Credo's permission like a good lapdog."

That did it.

Nero looked indignant and brushed past her. "Whatever lady. If you're that scared to go alone, just ask."

"I'm glad a brave strong boy like you is willing to protect me." Gloria purred.

Nero marched up to the bell tower and didn't hesitate – he leaned back and delivered a jarring kick that shook the doorway but the heavy door refused to budge. He threw it a nasty look.

"Double barred." Gloria examined the lock. "Looks like we'll have to wait for Credo after all."

Nero crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "What's your business here anyway? You big shots have never been interested in our city before."

"That's incorrect – while his holiness hasn't much patience with the complications of its structures, he does care about the people in them." Gloria spoke with a tone that denoted boredom more than conviction. "That's why I've been sent, so that I may see the situation and deal with it as necessary."

"That's a smooth speech. Had it memorized didn't you?"

"That and various variations of it." Gloria spoke breezily, "Enough about that though, tell me more about you: what's an exciting boy like you doing in the by-the-book police force?"

"Credo invited me." He replied brusquely.

_Polite. I'm the shinning example of polite. Watch how I refrain from throwing up._

"Ah, good old Credo." Gloria tilted her head sideways like a cat admiring its prey. "Have any family here?"

"No."

_That's right Nero, keep it short and simple…_

"So you must stay in the dormitories? Made lots of friends? Have a girlfriend? A boyfriend perhaps?"

"Yes, yes, no… what???"

"Ooh, fervent denial." Gloria spoke gleefully. "We must be on the right track."

All thoughts of politeness vanished from Nero's mind. His hand strayed towards Blue Rose. "Look here you – "

The shrill pierce of a cell phone interrupted him.

Gloria pulled out a phone and raised it to her ear. "Yes?"

Her expression changed horrifically, as something akin to panic or fury flashed across her face. "I'm on my way."

"What's up?" A weaker man than Nero would have flinched at the look of venom Gloria threw at him.

"Tell Credo there's been an emergency." Her voice was cold and dispassionate, all trace of lazy cat gone. "I'll contact him."

With that, Gloria took off at a skipping run, somersaulting smoothly over the iron wrought gate and out of sight.

* * *

Kyrie had just ironed the last of the clothes when she caught sight of the darkening sky.

With a weary stretch, she pulled off her apron and gathered her things before heading out into the hall. She paused at the living room doorway, about to call out to its occupant only to hesitate at the sight before her.

Vergil was seated on the windowsill, seemingly engrossed on the book in his hands. The pale autumn sunlight illuminated white hair into a soft silver, relieving the hard angles in his stern face. He had foregone the trench coat for once, and suddenly bereft of the stiff garment that he had employed to physically close himself off, he looked… almost approachable.

There was none of the guarded hostility that had always surrounded him like a dark aura and he had even relaxed the almost painful rigidity with which he held himself upright to allow the barest hint of a slouch. The sleeves of his dark sweater had been rolled up to his elbows, and sunlight skimmed over the pale skin of his forearm, tracing lean muscles and delicately shading the curve of his wrist and long, elegant fingers. It was a decidedly masculine arm, all muscle and bone, looking almost too hard anything but carved out of marble.

Kyrie vaguely wondered if it was capable of a gentle touch.

Then as if feeling her gaze, he looked up, all defenses immediately snapping back into place.

"Are you going home?" Vergil put the book down and wondered at the sudden blush that stained her cheeks.

"Y-yes." Kyrie stammered, feeling as if she had pried on some private moment. "Dinner's in the fridge if you'd like some. It's getting dark so I better hurry…. Goodbye!"

She all but fled the room.

Vergil arched an eyebrow and followed the girl out into hall where she was struggling to pull on her coat and keep her grip on her bag at the same time.

"You're going alone?" His voice was slightly sharp. "I thought someone was coming to pick you up."

Kyrie gave him a sheepish smile. "It'll be fine. I brought pepper spray."

"You mean you didn't tell anyone that you were coming here." Vergil narrowed his eyes at her guilty shuffle. "Haven't you learned from yesterday? There are more dangerous things out there than you can hope to fend off with… pepper spray."

In reply, Kyrie pushed the door open. The cool autumn wind swept past Vergil and into the hall, spicy and enticing especially after being in the house the whole day. The sparse trees against the suburban housing were a vivid gold and crimson against the purple streaked watercolor sky.

"I can't live my life locked up because I'm forever afraid of what lies outside my doors." Kyrie took a graceful step out into the afternoon and all of a sudden it seemed to him a crime to cage up any being that belonged so naturally to the sun. "I appreciate the fact that everyone worries about me – I really do – but it's not as if I'm being targeted or so fragile as to need constant watching. I'm not a civilian; I know what lurks in the night but… I want to help as well. I may not be strong or smart, but I daresay even the heroes need some help from the people in the background."

She paused and frowned. "I mean I can clean and cook… I'm sure that'll count for something in the long run."

"…If you do die, I'll laugh. Hard."

"Laugh all you want but I refuse to die: I even brought a stun gun."

"Of all the stubborn…" Vergil let out a soft snort of disbelief. "A modicum of caution would be appreciated by those of us who have to clean-up your dead body. There's a difference between bravery and foolhardiness and right now you don't seem to know the difference between the two. In a face-off with demons you don't want to let them get close enough to use… pepper sprays or stun guns." And despite himself, he smiled at the mental image. "Don't be difficult about it; I'll walk you home."

He waited for some form of protest but Kyrie merely stared at him absently.

"That's the longest speech I've heard you say yet." She liked the way he smiled: with his eyes rather than his lips, forever mocking and yet shadowed with sincerity. He looked slightly puzzled and she gave herself a mental shake. "I mean, I'll be fine really – you don't have to –"

"Walk." Vergil gave her a light tap on the shoulder and strode ahead.

Kyrie stared at his back, one hand instinctively reaching up to where he had touched her.

His touch had been no more of a feather-light nudge but it had been firm, almost friendly, slightly impatient, warm and…

Gentle.

She shook her head free of embarrassing thoughts and ran to catch up to Vergil's long strides.

* * *

**AN**

At last - a miniscule hint of the romance that I've been itching to write! I swear, Vergil gets so prickly that it's hard for me to hint even this much. Well, that's why we love him I suppose...

I'll be back to my weekly updates, although i'll try to update even sooner than that if the muses permit me.

My deepest gratitude to **BleachedFighter**,** Dias**,** Yuu-ko** (I MISSED YOU!!! XD), **The Black Inferno Devil** (Thankies! I needed that, and I'm REALLY HAPPY to hear from you again!!! MWAH!!! XD), **Hao is Hot** (I MISSED HEARING FROM YOU AS WELL!!!), **Zhee** (Hurrah! XD As to that... we'll see.), **Trinity Archangel** and especially - **ShyAnon** (TRY HER STORIES - works of art, I swear!) and** xXxzeldaxXx **(Thank you, thank you, thank you.)


	11. Cookie Divination

**Cookie Divination**

* * *

Vergil exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

He ran his hand through his hair, blinking away the droplets of water that still clung unto his eyelashes as he strode down the stairs and into the kitchen. Ignoring the pre-winters chill on his bare arms, he turned on the tap and filled a glass with water, listening to the ringing stillness of the house.

It was too quiet; he frowned decidedly.

'…So she doesn't come on Sundays.'

Vergil leaned against the wooden counter, sipping his drink and mulling over his current situation. The past week had been blessedly quiet, and aside from the routine (and silent) walk home after she cleaned the house, he had further limited their interactions to the briefest and most tedious of social necessities that consisted of 'hello', 'goodbye' and 'how are you's (all courtesy of her really, he just nodded).

He was steadily gaining confidence in the possibility that he had been mistaken in the diagnosis of their interactions, or that at the very least that this condition wasn't as binding as he had been led to believe.

The more he spent time with her, the less convinced he was that she was anything other than a normal young woman. Perhaps he was just attracted to her and had somehow blown it own of proportion, then convinced himself that something was off. Although it stung his pride somewhat (He didn't think his taste in women had fallen so low. Perhaps he needed to go out more often…) even this appealed to him better than the alternative.

That would mean that she was not a Demon Magnet.

That would mean he was not her Consort.

That would mean life was still blessedly simple – or at least as simple as life could be if one was a son of Sparda.

He sighed. Whoever decided on those particular epithets really needed more subtlety…

Vergil downed the rest of the contents of his glass and habit led him to rinse his cup before returning it to the cabinet. He needed another trip to the library… after all, he must've been really tired to accept the premise of that single days' flawed research like that.

Vergil shouldered his trench coat and caught sight of one of the carefully wrapped cookies that Kyrie had insisted on giving them. He had resisted all her attempts to get him to try some and she in turn had settled for leaving packages around the house in the hopes of tempting him.

He turned the plastic package over, feeling a small bubble of amusement at the sight of the purple monkey sticker that sealed the flap. Then, in a rare burst of mildly charitable feeling, he slid the package into his pocket to give to Scholar (which had the added bonus of getting them out of the house) before making his way out and towards the Library.

Although he made the way on foot, the day was thankfully cool with very few pedestrians. Vergil took the rarely frequented roads that eventually led to the twisting streets of the Underground, refusing to slow his pace although his muscles screamed for a rest.

It was times like this that Vergil hated most – the feeling of lingering weakness that was his constant reminder of, what Dante dubbed Vergil's possession at Mallet Island, 'The Incident'. It had been four long years ago, and although he still possessed advanced healing, its potency was no longer like the old times when even near-fatal wounds would have knit themselves up on the spot. Instead, a relentless fatigue hounded his movements, necessitating constant rest in order for him to function half as well as he once did.

"Master Vergilus," Scholar greeted, rising to his feet and beaming. He looked shabbier than usual, with his long beard tucked haphazardly in his belt along with his tattered robe that hung loosely on bony shoulders. "I hope you have found an adequate solution to your problem."

"I need more information. Run me the index on 'demon magnets'."

"As you wish." The Scholar's eyes blanked into a strange milky-whiteness as he stared into some unseen distance. There was the faintest hum of electricity on his skin and the Scholar let out a soft sigh as his eyes refocused on the taciturn man in front of him.

"We have some books that might help on Aisle TML row 43-758. Also, Aisles HKA row 92 and IFC row 79-320 posses generic scrolls, but they might help."

"Bring them all to me." Vergil inclined his head and walked off towards into his usual solitary chair and table.

The rest of the day was spent in study, silent but for the flicker of pages and the barely discernable whisper of time passing. He plodded steadily through the pile that Scholar silently left on the table, relentlessly moving from one book to the next. It wasn't until the sunlight that lit the room dimmed to a point where even his eyes had to strain themselves to see the lettering that Vergil closed his eyes with a sigh.

It had been a grueling process weeding through the information, half of which was written in other languages that needed constant cross-referencing. He had spent all day, and would have spent all night if it had not been for the lack of light. While he was not thoroughly satisfied, it had not been a wholly unsatisfying search. He had managed to dig up several reliable sources that, while longwinded and monotonous, all agreed on one thing…

'…I won't let anybody kill her but me.' He mused.

That thought made him feel a little better.

Vergil put the book down and leaned back, languorously stretching out the kinks in his shoulder. He heard a rustle of plastic within his pocket and brought out the forgotten cookie pack.

He gave it a contemplative stare, and on cue, his stomach reminded him that it had not been fed since yesterday afternoon. Funny how a week of being spoiled by home cooked food could make said appendage so greedy when it used to go without nourishment for days at a time.

Should he…? Well, she didn't have to know…

Vergil slid a nail under the seal and broke off a piece before hesitantly, and almost shiftily, putting it into his mouth.

"Master Vergilus, dusk has set in so I've brought a lantern." Scholar walked over from behind a bookshelf, carrying an armful of scrolls and parchment. "Once you've finished with these, please do not hesitate to call on me… what's this?"

Vergil swallowed without chewing. "…Cookies." He spoke gruffly, abruptly returning to his book.

Damn how that old man did not have the least sense of timing…

"Ah." There was a pregnant pause as Scholar continued to eye the package wistfully.

Vergil sighed. "Just take some already."

"I thank you." Scholar beamed and took a cookie. "My, it must have been a fine lady or gentleman who made these… someone who is very fond of the young master. I can feel the warmth and care lingering in every bite."

Vergil raised an eyebrow. "That's a new form of divination even I've never heard of."

Scholar chuckled. "When you've grown as old as I am and live as monotonous a life, you learn to appreciate the little details and enjoy the most minute of changes in them. These cookies," He took another bite, his face transforming into blissful reverie. "They make me think of sunlight, wind and clouds… ah I do miss seeing the sky."

There was a sad silence as Scholar licked the last crumbs of his fingers.

"You lie." Vergil impulsively took a cookie and bit off an edge. "I don't taste any of that at all." He nudged the package towards Scholar, poker-faced.

Scholar's gave Vergil a warm smile that said man studiously ignored, before taking another cookie. "Then tell me, what do you taste?"

Vergil let a piece rest on his tongue. "If I had to make a stab at the ingredients… Chocolate. Salt, butter, flour, baking soda –"

"No, don't dissect them piece by piece as if they have no story to tell. Tell me about their contribution. _What do they tell you?_"

Vergil's eyes snapped open and he gave Scholar a wordless glare that spoke volumes about just how stupid those instructions were.

"It's really not that difficult." The old man sounded unperturbed, almost cheerful. "I'll show you."

He took a bite and let out a satisfied smile. "Here we go." Scholar closed his eyes as if to better savor the taste. "Do you see? The adventurous dash of lemon suggests a great inquisitiveness…"

Vergil allowed that the citrus hint in the batter was rather curious.

…_I'd say more nosiness than anything. _

"…the perfect balance of sugar and salt high betrays their high regard of you."

Salt brushed past his senses, followed by a lingering sweetness.

_More of a candy-coated picture of us really – how would she react if she saw us after a battle, covered with demon blood and gore?_

"And of course the chocolate," He took an exaggeratedly careful bite.

Vergil allowed the bitterness-sweetness of it to dominate his mouth.

"There's a great deal of gratitude - "

_How saccharine sweet. _

"As well as trust,"

_Naïve child. _

"There's a wish for friendship…"

_A wish for protection's more like it._

"And then - " The Scholar hesitated, perplexed.

"…A desire for chance?"

Vergil frowned.

_No, more than that. _

It was a certainty that brooked no room for opposition. A quiet, confident feeling that made it… ah, the nerve of her.

_It was a promise_.

Vergil crushed the remains of his cookie within his grip, ignoring Scholar's inquiring look.

"Enough of this. I'll return tomorrow – leave the books alone."

"As you say," The old man inclined his head. "However, what about the rest of your refreshments?"

"I don't know how many times I have to say it," He rose abruptly, sailing out of the room without a backward glance. "I hate sweets."

* * *

Nero dropped his head on a long-overdue pile of paper work with a thump, before pulling out a sheet of paper at random and scrawling a messy signature on it without even bothering to read its contents.

He had over-heard that Credo had been looking for him again – and piecing that together with the rumors from this morning regarding a scantily clad representative from Fortuna that wanted to tour the city - decided that it would be best to keep a down low for the time being…

And what better place to hide in than one he usually avoided like the plague?

Nero sighed as the pen blotted messily in his hand. Ah paper work. How he loathed paper work…

"Nero…?" A heavily spotted policeman peered into the cubicle, looking startled to find said man within it. "Is this where you've been all day? Credo was looking for you, you know."

"I know – why do you think I'm here anyway?" Nero waved a hand across the dusty piles that had long ago sagged in mournful neglect. "Keep it down will you."

The man snorted and leaned against the cubicle wall. "Alright, alright. Let me just pass on the message: Credo wants you to put down all your other assignments and concentrate on being Lady Gloria's guide for as long as she's here, you lucky dog."

Nero made a disgusted noise. "I've had enough of that woman."

"What? Are we talking about the same buxom goddess who was here last week?"

"Don't make me hurl…"

"I agree; not everyone is into the same type women as you are." One of the more senior policemen peered over the cubicle with a chuckle. "Smart move you're making Nero – she seems to be nothing but trouble if you ask me."

"I like my women troublesome." The other policeman spoke with a superior air.

"Whatever." Nero twirled his pen around his thumb in a lazily arc. "Do me a favor and take Gloria off my hands then."

"Whose Gloria?" A curious, distinctly feminine voice asked.

"K-Kyrie?" Nero turned around so fast he knocked a pile of papers over, as the pimply policeman quickly ducked away. "What are you doing here?"

"The question is: what are you doing here?" Kyrie cocked her head to the side and frowned slightly. "Why aren't you off on patrol? I didn't even know you _had_ a desk… Are you feeling alright?"

The older policeman chuckled and decided to save Nero from the awkwardness of this explanation. "It's been a long time Kyrie – lovely as ever I see."

Kyrie smiled. "And you're as charming as always Ryan. How are the Stephanie and the kids?"

Nero settled back into his seat with a sigh as the two chattered pleasantries above him, dashing more signatures on the required papers without thought or care about their contents. Instead, he focused on the soothing hum of her voice – a voice he hadn't heard in almost a week, he realized with a discontented pang. He had been coming home late and leaving earlier, trying to deal with the increase in demon activity as well as attempting to avoid Credo and the chore he was sure to be assigned. It had been working so far, but had the consequence of estranging himself from the young woman.

Nero concentrated on memorizing the rise and fall of her laugh.

"…I don't know. What do you think Nero?"

"Huh?" He wrote an elaborate scribble, feigning responsibility, before glancing up.

"I just asked Kyrie if she could sing at my daughter's school fair." The policeman explained. "The missus has been worrying about finding someone to fill in for the music teacher and I remember that Kyrie has a great voice. If you could just drop by for a few minutes next Friday…"

"Do it." Nero watched Kyrie bite her lower lip thoughtfully. "You love singing and you're good with kids – I'd have thought you'd jump at the chance."

"Well, it's just that I haven't sung in so long I'm afraid I'll embarrass myself." She admitted. "But if I can help then…"

The policeman brightened. "Thanks Kyrie! I'll tell Stephanie to call you and schedule."

"You're welcome. Send them my love." She waved as he walked away.

"You'll be fine." Nero recalled the last time she had sung and had to shake off the desire that the memory evoked to get her to sing right there and then. "I'll go and cheer you on if you want."

"Will you really come?" She brightened, and he realized with some relief, that she had noticed his absence after all.

"…You do realize that you're asking me to be in a room with a bunch of brats?" Nero pretended to think it over. "Your song better be worth it."

"It's a promise then." Kyrie smiled, only to blink and frown seconds later. "Now, whose Gloria?"

* * *

**AN**: At long last - that stubborn half-demon consented to eat the cookie! (does happy dance)

Thank you so much to all of you who've read and reviewed - particularly to **The Black Inferno Devil**, **Hao is Hot** and **Yuu****-ko** who have been with me from the very beginning. Thank you.


	12. Dangerous Revelations

**Chapter 12**: Dangerous Revelations

The tread of heels against pavement sounded loudly in the empty streets that lead towards the infamous demon-hunting agency.

Trish's leisurely pace allowed her moments more to breathe in the smoggy city air, putting off the return to the reality of her life where slaying demons, saving the world and flirting with pain and death were constants… where the dearest of old friends could turn into enemies faster than Dante could polish off a family-size pepperoni pizza with extra tomatoes and cheese.

She paused in front of the agency, gazing up at the neon sign that proudly declared itself as 'Devil May Cry'; wondering how it would have been like to be like one of those normal people walking down the street with the freedom to pass by this very building, unconcerned, unknowing, uncaring…

Then a muffled explosion from inside the agency shook the street with the faintest hint of violence.

Ah well. Home sweet home.

Trish shook her head in wry amusement and pushed open the door.

"Dammit woman – that was the latest issue of Motorcycle Addicts! I didn't even get the chance to read it yet!"

"After standing me up for half a day that's the least of your worries! Read this!"

There was a burst of gunfire, a startled feminine yelp, a muffled thump and the protest of springs that Trish knew had come from dilapidated couch in the corner of the room.

She stepped into the room just in time to stop the verbal sparring that was sure to come. "Hello, missed me loads I hope?"

Both of the room's occupants turned their heads sharply to look at her, Dante still holding the scorched magazine and Lady on her ungainly sprawl on the couch. The tension hung heavy in the air but Trish calmly strode over and plucked said paper from the white haired demon hunter, before perching herself on the desk.

On cue, the complaints came.

"She shot me!"

"After standing me up for two hours – _two hours_ I tell you!"

"Thrice! She shot me THRICE!"

"..it was freezing out there and this idiot was off at some pizza parlour –"

"Did I mention she shot me thrice?!"

Trish held up her hands in a time-out gesture. "Glad to hear you guys have been as busy as I have. If that's all, I have some news I think you'd like to hear."

Dante dropped himself in his throne-like chair and picked at the hole in his forehead. "Shoot… but not literally."

Trish's lips quirked up. "Keep up that sense of humour Dante love, you'll need it after this. Last week's demon influx isn't limited here; there have been reports from cities as far away as Ciassi and Athenia about the same incident. Lucky for us, there has been a pattern that points out the origin of this mass summoning came from the South – but as to what group and with what agenda, we still have no clue."

Lady crossed her arms thoughtfully. "It must be someone with considerable power or resources; a demon wave that large and all over the country?"

"Exactly," Trish dotted the air with a perfectly manicured nail. "Funny enough, civilian deaths have been kept to a minimum. You'd have thought that a massive influx of demons would mean high death rates, but there's been surprisingly little casualties thanks to some groups – notably that Order of the Sword."

Dante flicked the bullet over his shoulder, his blue eyes darkening slightly. "Ah. The cult that's been drooling over my old man?"

"What's the matter," Lady smiled sweetly. "Jealous?"

The tenseness in his posture disappeared.

"Hardly," Dante snorted. "But I've left them alone long enough. These volunteer police are a pain for us poor demon hunters – gotta keep the bills paid too you know."

"Well, that and –" Trish's throat constricted as her thoughts flickered to the moonlit rendezvous between her and Gloria. In all her years as a member of the DMC, she had never kept any potentially valuable information from the two people in front of her.

Sure they all had their little mysteries about them, but no one had ever deliberately kept the others in the dark when, as her almost infallible instincts insisted, it concerned saving the world from the bad guys. Nevertheless, some lingering attachment to her former sister kept the words from tumbling past her lips and it hovered there, bitter to the taste.

Dante noticed her hesitation and delivered a powerful kick on one end of the table, making it swivel a smooth 180º and turning the blonde demon around to directly face him. He reached out and gently pushed an errant strand of hair off her face, an uncommonly serious look on his own. "What happened?"

Trish raised her head, met his clear gaze and opened her mouth to speak.

* * *

Kyrie had just finished putting the rooms to right and drawing the drapes closed for the darkening sky, when the front door opened with a noisy crash.

She warily peered down the hallway, to catch sight of the red-clad demon hunter make his noisy way towards the den, shedding clothing and weapons on the floor as he walked along.

"W-wait!" Kyrie shrieked as he began to tug the zip of his shirt downwards, exposing a well-muscled chest. Dante raised his head quizzically, eyes lighting up in understanding as soon as he caught sight of her.

"Oh, right – hey Kyrie." Dante re-zipped it much to the girl's relief. "Why're you still here? I would've thought that big brother or jealous boyfriend would have picked you up by now."

"I… I just finished cleaning." Kyrie hoped her cheeks would stop burning soon. "I'm on my way home now."

"Alright – you take care on the way back." Dante grinned. "Heh, blushing at that. I wonder what you'd do if…"

"…What?"

"Nah, never mind." Kyrie didn't like the downright sinful smirk on Dante's lips. "By the way, has Vergil been home?"

"No, I haven't seen him all day actually." Kyrie felt a little pang of disappointment, but quickly shrugged it off.

"Still out huh?" Dante sighed. "Well, if you do see my no-good brother on the way, tell him I'm going to kick his butt if I find out that the reason he didn't come home yesterday was because he's trying to open another door to the demon world."

"… 'another door to the demon world'…?"

"Inside joke." Dante winked and promptly left the room.

"Right." Kyrie picked up her satchel and made her way towards the door, before anything else could happen.

She had just reached for the knob when the door opened again, catching both her, and Vergil who was on the other end, off guard.

"Speak of the devil!" Kyrie brightened. "Welcome back."

A strange look stole across his face at her words, and he opened his mouth as if to reply, thought better of it, and merely sighed. "…What day is it?"

"Monday." Kyrie noticed the darkness beneath his eyes and felt a tinge of worry for him. "Well, I just finished so I'm on my way home now. You don't have to walk me – just rest up okay? You look a little worn out…"

Vergil drew himself up to his full-height. "Your concern is most touching, and unnecessary." His voice was smoothly impassive as he gestured towards the road that led to her home. "Now walk."

His legs were long and his strides were brisk; Kyrie had to jog to catch up. Three blocks later, she broke the unspoken rule of silence.

"W-wait up!"

Vergil jerked to a stop as she reached out and tugged at his sleeve, as only his stringent presence of mind had prevented him from drawing his blade at this unexpected human contact. It had been so long since anyone had voluntarily touched him without the intention to harm that he stood motionless; half-hoping that she would remove her hand, half-afraid that she would.

Kyrie took a deep breath. "Sorry, I'm really out of shape… Can we settle for a slower pace?"

Vergil obliged wordlessly, feeling a pang of loss go through him when she moved her hand away.

She wondered at the tense set of his shoulders and floundered for words to fill in the suddenly suffocating silence. "By the way, Dante left a message. He said don't open anymore doors to the demon world or else he's going to kick your… um… get mad."

Vergil's head turned sharply. "What did you say?"

Kyrie felt her heart race under his intense scrutiny. "Dante -"

"I heard that." Vergil closed the distance between them, looming menacingly over the girl. "What else did that idiot say?"

"Nothing," She stared anxiously up at his impressive height. "He just said it was an inside joke."

Vergil relaxed slightly. "'An inside joke'?" He muttered contemptuously. "It's just like him to be so careless just because he's faced with a pretty girl…"

Vergil was suddenly on the receiving end of a beaming smile that distracted him more than he wanted to let on. "…What?"

"You think I'm pretty?" Kyrie clasped her hands behind her back, an uncommonly mischievous glint in her eyes.

Vergil cocked an eyebrow. Well, wasn't someone getting a little bold? "Let me rephrase. It's just like him to be so careless just because he's faced with someone wearing a skirt."

Kyrie burst out laughing. "Touché…. or touchy. I'll let you take your pick."

"You're in a good mood." The words came out unbidden from his lips. "Did anything happen?"

She looked delighted at being asked. "Conversation! You're actually making conversation!"

"… forget I asked."

"No, wait – something did!" Kyrie laced her fingers together and beamed at the sky. "I'm going to sing at a Kindergarten this Saturday."

"Hm."

"Yeah! It's been such a long time since anyone's asked me to perform so I'm kinda nervous… But my best friend said he'll come as well so it ought to be fun. Maybe we can go get some cotton candy afterwards or visit the booths– " She glanced at him, eyes bright. "Vergil, if you have some time, why don't you drop by as well? I'd like to introduce you to Nero – I have a feeling you two would get along."

There was no response from the stoic man, other than a sceptical look.

"I really do!" She insisted. "…Or at least I know him well enough to know that he'd like to meet you. We practically grew up together." Kyrie added as an afterthought. "In fact, he's responsible for half of the scars on my knees. I fell off trees and rolled down hills because of him and his clever ideas. This for instance – " She paused and reached down to grab the hem of her modest skirt, much to Vergil's dismay.

"What the – put that down!" He barked, pale cheeks suffusing with colour. She was not just planning to hitch up her skirt and show him her _knees_ in the middle of the street. No – there had to be limits even in the whacked out world he lived in.

"You don't have to be squeamish," Kyrie looked mildly puzzled, but she obliged. "It's a really cool scar…"

He wanted to smack his, no – better yet, _her _head.

"Do you go showing everyone your scars when it strikes your fancy?" He demanded exasperatedly.

"Um… I think you're the first actually."

"I'm most honoured." Vergil spoke dryly. "And don't. Not to any other man. Ever."

Kyrie glanced down at the body part in question. "Really, they weren't that bad…"

He sighed and rubbed his temples wearily.

An innocent. Someone spare him, but this was one of those few things that made him nervous.

Blame Eva for instilling vague ideas of chivalry in her sons that occasionally reared their goody-goody heads. He had always tried to avoid killing women and children, even in his Dark Slayer days. Nevertheless… there was a bitter tang in his mouth at the memories that _that_ particular train of thought evoked.

"Do me a favour, just walk."

Kyrie was startled at the resigned exasperation of his tone and the feel of his hand on the small of her back, propelling her forward. She stumbled slightly and looked up to catch sight of another pair of blue eyes, staring incredulously at her.

"Nero!" She began cheerfully, but soon felt the smile slide off her face. His hand was gripping the handle of Blue Rose with surprising strength, his wary gaze fixed on Vergil.

"You again?!" Came the gritted snarl and she felt more than saw the man next to her tense.

Suddenly, this meeting didn't seem like such a great idea…

* * *

After the call, Gloria had rushed madly to the hospital and down to the secret laboratories of the Order only to scent the metallic suggestion of blood in the air. A nervous Agnus led her back to his office where the two were currently facing each other.

Gloria's gaze was fixed upon the scientist, her eyes glowing eerily in the dark with some barely concealed madness.

"Explain." Her voice was a breathy hiss.

Agnus kept a wary distance between him and the wild-eyed female. "P-p-please Gloria, I must ask you to c-c-calm yourself."

"How can I calm myself when Nelo Angelo has been poisoned – and nobody seems to be able to tell me how?!" Gloria raged, kicking a chair and sending it smashing against the wall.

"As I said: he is currently unable to communicate to us. Right now, I can only c-c-conjecture…"

"Then conjecture faster!" Gloria hissed, bringing out her blades and gouging at the wooden desk.

Agnus winced. That was genuine oak too… "I believe it has something to do with the blood sample from Nero. As Nelo Angelo binds to his hosts through blood, the sample from the boy, which has been continuously medicated with suppressors, may have had an adverse affect on his already weakened immune system."

"And none of you thought of that possibility before hand?" Gloria shrieked.

"There was never enough d-d-data to be certain!" Agnus spoke defensively. "Even now we don't know enough about his condition to do anything other than wait it out or… give him a temporary host."

Gloria gave a frustrated yowl and flung an arm out. Agnus stayed perfectly still as a dagger embedded itself in the wall, a sparse inch away from hitting him. "I cannot risk it!

"Gloria, " His voice was soothing. "There's not a lot we can do. Nelo Angelo is a demon that needs a vessel in order to survive. He has done admirably well in surviving since the fall of Mundus and the separation from his old host – but that has been eight years ago and he has been growing weaker and weaker since. He needs a body, and s-s-soon."

Gloria stalked past him and wrenched the daggers out from the wall before quietly, and almost calmly, sliding them back in her boots. "How quickly can we schedule their binding?"

"It can be done in a fortnight." Agnus straightened, eyes gleaming. "I've already administered placebo tranquillizers instead of the usual medication. Nero will be ready to be taken by Nelo Angelo just in time for the next ap-p-pointment."

"Good. And you're _certain _that there are enough similarities between that boy and Nelo Angelo's former host to smoothen the transition?" Gloria's voice rang with warning.

"Yes." Agnus licked his lips nervously. "Credo was one of those who had found Nero inside the ruins of the castle, along with Nelo Angelo, as well as the elder son of Sparda. From his description, Nelo Angelo seemed to be performing the blood rites that would enable him to transfer hosts… until one of the knights p-p-panicked and shot at them." He saw Gloria's lips purse and hastily concluded. "Based on this, I believe we can conclude that Nero is Nelo Angelo's chosen replacement and would be the b-b-best host for him."

Gloria scraped her fingers thoughtfully against the battered desk. "Even better than his original one?" Her voice was a dangerous purr.

"Unfortunately, that one is being well-watched by his brother." Agnus tried not to react when she turned her attention to his leather chair, picking at the seams and digging out the stuffing. "While the Order has grown in power throughout these past years, I do not advise picking a fight with Sparda's successor just yet."

Gloria stopped moving. "You'll fix him; won't you?" She asked suddenly, voice quiet.

Agnus was thrown off-guard by the timid look in her eyes and hastened to assure the volatile woman. "Of course. Nelo Angelo has already regurgitated the tainted blood sample. The weakness will wear off in a day or so – that I can promise you Gloria."

"Good." Gloria turned abruptly, old confidence restored as she rose and sashayed out of the tattered office.

"He's… all I have left."

* * *

**AN:** Finally up - I know, I'm sorry - this chapter had to be dragged (kicking and screaming) from my mind due to its explanation-y nature, hence the lateness.

But now that this is over, the other chappy's ought to be published on schedule!

Also, I'd like to announce that I have finally gotten the most wonderful beta-reader **Clairavance**!The lack of the usual grammar and spelling mistakes, as well as the sudden appearance of this piece is thanks to her. (Plus - she's so awesome! :3)

Shout outs to **Trinity Archangel**, **Makurasen**, **Radioactivity**, **Flo~Pop**, **BleachedFighter**, **Yuu-ko**, **Hao is Hot** and **The Black Inferno Devil** who have been most generous with their time and praise. I cherish every word you guys have written, it means so much when you guys take the extra effort to give the authors back some love. This chapter, as with all future chapters, are dedicated to you all.


	13. Vergil's Awakening

Warning: Some DMC manga spoilers~ the chapter would be better understood if you've read them (PM me for links! :D)

* * *

**Chapter 13: Vergil's Awakening**

Feeling irrationally nervous, Kyrie approached Nero cautiously. "Hi Nero – you're home early." She greeted.

"Yeah. Early." Nero sized up the suddenly guarded Vergil who met him stare for stare.

There was a cold silence as the two men stood at their impressive heights and studied the other: Nero with blatant hostility and Vergil with affected indifference. Kyrie swallowed and braved the charged air.

"N-Nero, I want you to meet Vergil, a tenant in the place that I work in. Vergil, this is Nero… And we were just talking about him too, wasn't that a coincidence!" She laughed feebly.

"'Vergil'?" Nero's frown lessened slightly. "I thought his name was Dante or something."

"No," Kyrie seized at the chance of reconciliation. "This is Vergil, his brother."

"What, has this guy been bothering you too?" Nero didn't even bother lowering his voice and Kyrie threw him an exasperated look.

"I told you, Dante hasn't done anything – in fact he's hardly in the house."

"And don't forget what I told you; kick him in the shin and call me if he is." Nero studied Vergil with new perspective and, finding a lack of the wolfish aura that had set his teeth on edge, he grudgingly put away his initial prejudices. "Alright buddy, I'll take her from here."

"So you're Nero." Vergil broke his silence. "I've heard stories about you."

Nero smiled lazily. "All of them true, I assure you."

"I can tell." Vergil's tone was just the right amount of disdain and sneer.

Kyrie felt the temperature drop several degrees.

"You know, that reminds me – I just bought some steak for tonight's dinner! I was able to get a discount at the butchers apparently since I'm one of their best customers. It's good tenderloin too, none of those leftover cuts that are made to look like steak. I think I'll serve it up with some peppercorn sauce later," She babbled, the feeling of dread growing at every second that the two stared each other down. "And maybe some of those steamed vegetables that Credo likes so much… although I'm not so sure if we have carrots so –"

"Sounds good." Nero casually dropped his hand atop the girl's shoulder. "Kyrie cooks really well, you should taste the stew she makes. It's the best in town."

"I know." Vergil's eyes flickered briefly to the offending hand.

Nero's own eyes narrowed. "Oh you do, do you?"

For all the straight-laced impassiveness that emanated from this guy, he sure knew how to push buttons. In fact, this bastard got under his skin even worse than Dante did. There was something in the way he talked to Nero that made Nero feel inferior.

"Yes." He could have left it at that, but Vergil couldn't resist a parting jibe. "The cookies weren't that bad either."

Nero bristled, much to Vergil's amusement. How easy it was to raise this boy's hackles with a few choice words; so reminiscent of Dante in his younger years that'd loose every battle of wit and run teary-eyed to Eva. He even had the same scowl; that one that implied he knew he was losing but wasn't going to back down without a fight.

Nero glowered at the older man and tightened his grip on Kyrie.

Vergil's amusement increased at the territorial possessiveness with which he hung about the girl. "Just like a puppy worrying over a bone." He mused aloud.

Nero may not have known the exact train of Vergil's thoughts, but the implied insult was only too obvious.

"Is there something you want to say, old man?"

"Nothing I'm sure you haven't thought of already." _Boy. _Vergil's eyes taunted.

"Alright, big guy." Nero's demonic hand twitched in response to its owner's displeasure. "If you're buying a fight, I won't disappoint."

"I don't play nice." Vergil spoke slowly, disdainfully. "Give yourself a few more years."

"Don't worry; neither do I."

Kyrie stared with horrified fascination at the vein that pulsed on Nero's temple. "T-thank you so much for walking me home, Vergil!" She squeaked, quickly slipping an arm in the crook of Nero's own, both as a comforting and restraining gesture. "Nero and I are neighbours so you can go ahead – I'll see you tomorrow!"

Vergil inclined his head in acknowledgement. "So much for getting along. Work on those 'feelings' of yours." His lips quirked upright, and he swept away from the two.

She felt a smile creep on her face at the unmistakable amusement in his eyes. A smile that was quickly wiped off at the rankle on Nero's own.

"Tomorrow? You're meeting up with that – " He remembered who he was talking to and hesitated. "Guy tomorrow?"

Kyrie tugged on his arm more firmly. "Come on, it's getting dark."

"Kyrie – " Nero's tone revealed the shortness of his temper.

"Nero, please." Kyrie bowled on desperately. "Vergil's been very kind to me, walking me home like that even when he didn't have to. He's usually courteous and quiet – no, really! And, he's my friend, so please try to get along when you see him. Besides," She added with a burst of inspiration. "…may I just say that you look very cute when you're annoyed."

"I – what do you… wait!" Nero dropped his gaze, looking torn between embarrassment and annoyance.

"That's a dirty trick Kyrie."

"I meant it though." She patted his rigid shoulder cheerfully. "I always did have a weakness for the strong, broody type... Anyway, it's rare to see you home so early! Not much work today?"

"Actually, he's cutting duties." Came the dry voice of Credo from behind them.

"Credo!" Nero quickly dropped Kyrie's arm, as if burned.

"Nero." Credo mimicked, his gaze frosty. "So this is where you've been hiding. Getting a little close to my sister, aren't you?"

"Oh Credo, you know you'll always be my favourite brother." Kyrie leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Well, if you guys have to go back to the station, do try to come home early for once. I'll make something really nice for dinner!" She beamed before walking away.

Credo stood there, red-faced and spluttering as Nero discreetly made his own escape.

Whoever said women were the weaker of the sexes had obviously never had a sister.

* * *

It had been a long day…

Exhausted from being under Credo's burning gaze, as well as dealing with Gloria's temperamental flirting, Nero locked the door to his room and didn't even bother to turn on the lights as he stumbled towards his bed.

Gloria had seemed to be in a vindictive mood as she dragged him around town and back, ending the aimless tour with a couple of shots from a pub from the Underground. He didn't like drinking and had always avoided doing so, but when Gloria shoved a shot at him and called him a baby, Nero had downed his drink, hers, and a startled civilian's before striding out of the bar.

He dropped heavily unto the mattress - which gave an abused and somewhat resigned creak - kicked off his boots and fumbled into his coat pocket for the bottle of pills.

Nero popped the cap off with one hand and downed several of the white tablets, uttering an exhausted curse when the movement caused the bottle to fall off his bed and clatter unto the floor, spilling its contents on the scuffed wood. He contemplated on leaving it there till the morrow, but the very nature and importance of the medicine eventually made him heave himself upright and funnel them back into the bottle.

Nero buried his face into his hard pillow and felt the quiet touch of sleep across his consciousness almost immediately.

His hazy and more than slightly tipsy thoughts touched on topics like… when had he last given Blue Rose a maintenance check? While being a member of the Order of the Sword usually required fighting with, as the name suggested, a sword – Nero found that the usefulness of a gun was worth all the snotty comments from the rest of the force. Besides, he looked cool totting a gun around and it made a great conversational piece… as well as having the added bonus of annoying Credo.

He smiled into the folds of his pillow.

Funny how red Credo's ears had gone today. Like tomatoes. He didn't like tomatoes, although he would pick them over celery any day.

It was a shame that Kyrie always made him finish all the vegetables on his plate regardless of whether he liked them or not… He still liked Kyrie though. Warm, soft, nice-smelling Kyrie who had ways of touching people's hearts and staying there… befriending even the annoying ones like Vergil and Dante.

He had a sudden panicked thought.

Did Vergil eat all his vegetables??? He felt almost certain that Dante didn't. Did Kyrie like guys who ate their vegetables without complaint?

His demonic hand twitched in reply and he relaxed slightly.

That's right – as if that mattered. He'd just eat all his vegetables from now on.

Take that Vergil.

Resolution firmly in mind, Nero relaxed and gave in to the dreams hovering in wait for him.

As usual, it started out with him falling…

But this time, he did not land in the depths of hell. The scenery around him was changing, morphing into a caricature of a countryside smattered with graves. He stalked down the midst of the tombstones, first at a walk, then at a loping run, before breaking into an outright sprint.

_Faster._

Where was he? He had to find him – to tell him that the monsters had escaped again. He would know what to do; he always knew what to do.

_Faster..._

He had tried to fight them off, he really had tried his very hardest – angry tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, only to be brutally brushed away. He had fought just like he had been taught… but he wasn't strong enough. If only he had…

_Faster!_

Power. He needed more power.

* * *

_Desperation._

Kyrie found herself in a graveyard; muscles burning from her pell-mell dash through the stones as she gulped in much needed air and ignored the stitch at her side.

The orderly rowed marble tombstones stretched to the endless horizon – stark white reminders of the brevity of life, against the ominously darkening sky. Kyrie shuddered, feeling horribly exposed in the midst of the desolate scenery. Where was he? She had to find him; to bring him back to help her mom and brother and –

_A stab of fear so brutal it nearly brought her to her knees._

They were coming! Terror gave her another burst of energy to run even deeper into the cemetery. Something white flashed in the corner of her eye and she turned her head to stare in horror at the skeletons clawing themselves out of the dark earth.

Kyrie dashed forward, her frightened sobs deafening in the silence as the dead began to stalk her. Her eyes darted around, searching for anyone – _anything _that could help her… and felt a relief so intense it brought tears to her eyes when she caught sight of a sword stuck upright in the mud, only a few graves off to her left.

She hopped over a clumsy attempt to grab her ankle, and drew the sword with a trembling hand, not a moment too soon. Dozens of skeletons surrounded her, then hundreds more. Kyrie swung the blade wildly, haphazardly, terror taking away all thought but for the need to survive. The skeletons' empty eyes mocked her as they danced closer and ever so closer, many shattering from the impact of her swings, many more moving in to take their place.

The ground gave a sudden rumble and a skeleton burst from the grave next to her feet and Kyrie stared at the spear that suddenly protruded from beneath her abdomen.

The momentum of the blow sent her reeling backwards and she stumbled, slamming her head unto a gravestone. Stunned and half-blinded by the pain, Kyrie looked back in a daze only to find herself staring at a name – carved in an unmistakable, unforgiving print across the white marble.

She tried to stretch her unresponsive hand towards the sword that had fallen out of her grip, when her blurred vision flit just past it and towards the horizon where a dark haze of smoke curled up in the equally dark air.

Burning. It couldn't be –

_A sadness so overwhelming it hurt to breathe. A shame so bitter it hurt to live._

An anguished scream ripped through the night air, as sudden and brief as lightning, and Kyrie flinched.

Was there anyone else in the cemetery with her? With the wounded cry still ringing in her ears, it took Kyrie some time to realize that it had actually come from her lips.

'No – it's just a dream!' She stared up at the approaching skeletons, with their garish grins and curved scythes bearing closer and closer. 'Wake up! Wake up! _WAKE UP!'_

The blade flew into her heart.

And somewhere in the dark night, Vergil bolted upright, sweating and gasping for breath.

* * *

**AN: **And here's the (un?)lucky chapter 13!

Since the manga isn't as well known as the game, perhaps I should explain this part a little.

We all know that Vergil found out his demon powers before Dante did – well, that little scene up there was Vergil's awakening to his demon heritage as the son of Sparda. If you guys haven't read it yet, I can send a link (PM me for that~ :D). It's on chapter two, aptly named 'Vergil'. (Ohm-nom-nom! XD)

Thanks to **Clairavance **who beta-d this chapter~

And a shout out to all of you who've read, especially **Takuma **(Nice to see you again!!! Yaaaay!)**, Hao is Hot **(I was thinking the same thing! It's fun to write a prudish Vergil though ;))**, SilveryPurpleStarDemon **(Cookies right back at you! :D)**, Yuu-ko **(Yesh, I will do my best to be on time XD) and** Trinity Archangel **(Thank you! I'll do my best to deliver~).

You guys rock my literary world.


	14. Sleepless Nights

**Chapter 14: Sleepless Nights**

It was a lazy day, with the sun being unusually cooperative and willing to grace the city with its presence. Fine days like this demanded nothing short of lazing around indoors, drink in hand, and the air conditioning turned up full blast to combat the heat. Even the demons seemed to agree; hence the telephone of Devil May Cry lay unusually still and silent.

Dante sat with his chair tipped precariously on its hind legs. He was the perfect picture of indolence with his figure stretched out in between the desk and chair; booted feet crossed casually on the battered desk with a magazine draped over the lower half of his face.

He was just debating on whether or not he was too lazy to walk over to the fridge to finish the rest of the strawberry ice cream, when the door to the agency slammed open and Vergil stormed in.

Although his elder brother's face was impassive, Dante could read in the telltale glimmer in Vergil's eyes and the extraordinary loping grace of his brother's stride that he was itching for a fight.

So much for his lazy afternoon…

"Do you mind closing the door?" Dante allowed the magazine to slide down his chest and rest on his lap. "You're letting the heat in."

Vergil ignored this and halted just in front of the desk, drawing his blade in a motion so swift that Dante found his nose a bare centimetre away from Yamato's razor-edge before he could blink.

"Explain yourself. Why did you tell the girl about the demon gate? Is my past any of your business that you're entitled to gossip about it?"

Dante raised an eyebrow and cautiously righted himself. "Huh?"

"Eloquent as always. I'm referring to your amusing comment about the hell-gate. Kyrie delivered your message as requested."

"Responsible, that girl." Dante agreed. "Think of it as a caring reminder. You disappeared for two days, of course your little brother's gonna worry."

"Back off." His voice was bitingly cold and the blade lowered a hairsbreadth to nick at the skin of Dante's throat. "Let me make it clear to you now. I may owe you for," He practically spat out the next word, "saving me from Mundus but I refuse to be dragged so low as to have my weakness thrown in my face by everyone. I will stay with you until I pay it off and no longer."

A single ruby bead travelled down the length of the blade, and Dante's eyes flit to it, noticing the uncertain path it traced towards the handle.

His forehead knotted in a frown. To hold the blade in anything less than a perfectly parallel plane was sloppy swordsmanship; and Vergil did not do sloppy swordsmanship. But why did…

Dante's lips parted in wordless surprise.

Vergil's arm was trembling with the effort to keep Yamato aloft.

Dante felt a chill grip his heart even as he gave a noisy sigh, falling into his role as the carefree wisecracker. "Alright. I get it already- no more talking to others 'bout the incident."

"No talking to others about me period." Vergil was puzzled at his acquiescence, and slightly disappointed that he wasn't getting the fight he wanted. He sheathed his sword smoothly. "Stay out of my business."

"Alright already. What, do you want the first scoop of my ice cream to close the deal as well? I can't get anymore sincere than that."

"…What flavour?"

Dante looked slightly apprehensive as the suggestion of sharing tiptoed the line of empty words and reluctant action. "Coconut." He lied smoothly.

Vergil frowned. "Forget it. Do you have an assignment for me?" He sighed at Dante's suddenly brightening countenance.

"Funny you should ask- 's matter of fact I do. Enzo has a problem with the bar tender in one of his usual bars. Turns out the dude's actually a necromancer and is taking the souls of the beautiful, young ladies that he chances upon." He paused thoughtfully. "…You know what, forget that Verge- I want this mission."

"No. You'll spend the check there just as soon as you'd receive it."

"Money's made to be spent."

"Pay off your pizza tab before you can squander the rest of it." Vergil instructed and Dante had to smile at the disapproving look on his elder brother's face.

"Tightwad…"

"Simpleton. Get the details from Enzo as soon as you can."

Vergil strode out of the building and Dante's smirk crumpled into an apprehensive frown.

After their reunion, his brother and he had usually kept out of each other's way. Vergil hid himself in the house that Dante had bought especially for that purpose, nursing his shattered pride and battered body in solitary silence.

And Dante… well, Dante tried not to hover over his brother's side.

He was a mess of emotion, made mostly of elation at this chance of reconciliation, at the chance to have a part of his family back. But there were also the stirrings of fear at the possibility that the darkness had lain their claim too tightly over Vergil's soul – that he would have to banish him back to hell. Then there was the anxiety of finding the right way to act and the right words to say…

'Hey Verge – don't go psycho anymore, alright? It would suck if I had to kick your sorry butt back to hell so quickly. How was the weather there by the way?' Was too nonchalant and blasé.

'I missed having a brother around to scold me about everything… I've regretted letting go your hand everyday of my miserable life. Can't we just forget about everything and start over?' Was nauseatingly dramatic.

But how could he ever explain something so very simple and so very difficult as the longing for family?

Of course, the affection he held for Trish and Lady went beyond blood, (although goodness knows they had shed enough blood for one another to be kin twenty times over) to deeper and more powerful bonds tempered by failures and successes, of pleasure and suffering – of life, in all its pain and glory.

But there were deeper wounds and older scars.

_Damn._

He had never been good with such touchy-feely intangibles such as emotions. The way he dealt with most everything that troubled him was with a slash from a sword and a dozen rounds from Ebony and Ivory.

Perhaps he was getting a little maudlin in his dashing age.

Dante heaved a sigh and rose for that tub of strawberry ice cream.

* * *

Nightmares, although perhaps memories would be a more accurate word, had begun to plague Vergil's sleep every night this past week. He had begun sleeping less and less, until he finally deprived himself of slumber all together. Even the brief snatches of sleep he had managed were still dream-flecked and gave him no rest; so he fought against the heaviness of his eyelids through sheer force of his iron-will.

Vergil put down the books he had been unsuccessfully perusing and made his way from his room to the kitchen, giving in to the sudden craving for a hot mug of coffee.

He gave a resigned sigh when he found Kyrie rummaging through the cabinets, presumably for the exact same thing.

"Good afternoon!" She smiled at him from behind her shoulder, still straining on her tiptoes for the coffee jar that just always somehow found itself at the furthest corner of the cupboard, inches from her fingertips. "I was just about to make myself a cup of coffee. Would you like some as well?"

"…Make it scalding."

"Coming right up!" She gave up stretching and resorted to ungainly hops.

He watched in amusement as Kyrie blew an errant strand off her face with a disgruntled huff and clambered unselfconsciously up the counter, emerging seconds later from the depths of the cabinet with her prize in hand: a can of ground coffee beans.

For all her cheerful demeanour, he noticed the darkness under her eyes and allowed himself a tired slouch. So she hadn't been sleeping well either? Somehow, it felt good to have someone sharing in his sleepless misery.

"You haven't been sleeping well." Vergil commented evenly.

She stifled a yawn as she hopped down. "I suppose it's the nerves… The fair is tomorrow after all. Will you come as well? I'll treat you to popcorn and a ride."

"As tempting as that sounds, I'll pass."

"Okay, what about popcorn, a ride _and_ a drink?" The kettle that had already been set over the flames let out a shrill whistle and Kyrie juggled pot, cups and coffee tin with practiced ease. "I can only bribe you so far though – Credo cut my allowance since I got this job and I don't get paid till next week."

She placed the black coffee mug in front of Vergil with a dull thud and nursed her own cup, watching him take a sip of the dark liquid from beneath lowered lashes.

Kyrie was… concerned. Vergil's skin seemed paler than usual, stretched paper-thin over painfully sharp cheekbones. The dark smudges from beneath his eyes gave testimony to the hours of sleep he had foregone, the hours of sleep that he desperately needed.

"And you? Have you been sleeping well?" She made her tone polite and nonchalant.

For all his barely veiled exhaustion, Vergil's eyes glittered as sharply as ever. "Very well, thank you." He enunciated clearly, quietly; lying so blatantly that he was practically daring her to call his bluff.

"I'm glad to hear that." Kyrie blew across her cup. "But if you were having a hard time sleeping, hypothetically speaking of course, I would suggest a hot bath followed by a cup of milk and a back rub."

He snorted lightly. "Tried and tested I suppose."

"Well, it always helped Nero get to sleep." Kyrie smiled.

Vergil's eyes narrowed slightly. "And you know that because?"

"Oh, didn't I mention it? We literally grew up together. He's living in the same house as Credo and I."

"How cosy."

"It is fun having your best friend over all the time – it's like a permanent sleepover."

"Complete with giggles, sharing of secrets and painting of nails I suppose." Perhaps, he was being unfairly snarky… he blamed it on the sleep deprivation.

Kyrie looked amused. "Well, the sharing part might be right, but I do most of the giggling and all of the nail painting… Oh my, it is getting late." She finished her drink and swiftly rinsed her cup out.

"I'm done now."

"Alright." Vergil sipped his drink and made no move to get up. "Goodbye."

Kyrie paused. "Um… goodbye." She shuffled from one foot to another and fiddled with the keychain on her bag, dragging her feet to the doorway. "Well…"

"Well?" His calmness was starting to get to her.

"Well… would you… uh… like to take a walk with me?" She looked puzzled at his sudden change in mood and his blatant unwillingness to take her home as he had always done for the past month.

Vergil took another sip, dragging out the silence before he answered. "Ask your boy to take you instead."

"Boy… Oh, you mean Nero? He's still at work." A frown touched her lips. "Is something wrong, Vergil?"

He ignored her query and began to trace the rim of his cup in slow, lazy circles instead. "Hm. Do you have your pepper spray and stun gun on hand?"

"No. I started leaving them at home when you started walking with me..."

"Pity." Vergil's eyes flickered up, gleaming a stunning blue even in the fading light. "Piece of advice; when a demon comes, run as fast as you can, as hard as you can. Maybe you'll live."

"Or you can take me home and beat them up if they come." Kyrie hinted.

"Or that." He agreed, but only settled even lower into his seat.

He was such a difficult man to get to know; she suspected that any step back in their almost-friendship would tantamount to killing any chance of it entirely. She had grown very fond of the taciturn man whose back was always rigid with painful, lonely pride.

Every unwilling smile she had managed to drag out from those pale-lashed eyes, every mocking comment that belied his slightly more civil manners, had somehow become very important to her. Kyrie was drawn to the contradictions of this man who insisted on drinking his coffee black and bitter, while obviously detesting it's taste.

"But… I could die." She wheedled, wincing inwardly at how pathetic that sounded.

"In the event of a demon attack, yes, you probably would." He agreed looking faintly amused at the thought.

"And then you'll have to bury my dead body." She switched tactics and tried to look threatening.

"Which I shall do with the utmost ceremony." He agreed solemnly. "Perhaps even shed a tear or two if I'm feeling up to it."

There was silence as Kyrie glowered at him.

"If I do die, I'll haunt you forever. Walk me home."

* * *

**AN:** ...Short I know, but I was a little tied up with packing my things and saying good bye to people since I'm off to college next week~ :D But I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter even if it might be tricky to incorporate a song into the work…

Beta-d by the wonderful **Clairavance**: the spelling, grammar and syntax goddess.

Now, for the shout outs!

**Yuu-ko: **I'm glad! XD I had a lot of fun with that chappy myself~

**Takuma**: XD As soon as you said that I rushed to google and researched!! Apparently, those books aren't canon in the DMC universe, so we'll have to wait for Capcom to tell us about that.

**Angelforver06**: Thank you! I hope this chapter came up just in time~

**Ultimo: **YES BOSS!!! XD

**Hao is Hot: **I gotta agree with you there – the DMC ladies are so much fun to write :D

**Trinity Archangel: **Hahaha – good point! I didn't mean to do that though, it just happened that I had to cut chapters shorter if I wanted to update more quickly… Sorry for the shortness of this one as well :(

**EricDraven201: ***bows* :D

**JadeOokami**: Thanks so much for the feedback! I appreciated it a lot :3

And out of curiosity… are you guys rooting for Vergil, or Nero? (All together now: dun-dun-duuuuun!!!)


	15. The Dark Waltz

**Chapter 15: The Dark Waltz**

Disclaimer: Song by Hayley Westenra and Hello Kitty belongs to Sanrio~

* * *

_._

_We are the lucky ones_

_We shine like a thousand suns_

_When all of the colour runs together_

_I'll keep you company_

_In one glorious harmony_

_Waltzing with destiny forever_

_._

_._

Vergil wasn't certain what had brought him – _though with his luck, possessed him more likely_, came the humourless thought – to the Kindergarten Fair that he had just yesterday, decided not to attend.

He was certain he had been on his way to Enzo's bar in order to do some reconnaissance before it opened, but had somehow managed to pick out paths that led him closer to the kindergarten instead of the Underground. Twice he had corrected his course, and twice more his feet had led him to the fair before his sleep-deprived mind managed to wake itself sufficiently. Giving it up for lost; he resigned himself to a visit in the hopes that he could rouse himself from his almost-stupor with some new sights and sounds.

Vergil skirted the crowds and screaming children with a grimace, the smell of grease and the blare of music only serving to exacerbate the dull pounding in his temples. Taking the quieter passages led him to an empty playground that neighbored a large park, thicketed with actual trees decked in full autumn regalia. With the sugar-induced shrieking and nauseatingly cheerful natter now only a pleasantly muted hum, Vergil chose the least offensive of the plastic animal chairs and let out a heavy sigh as he stretched long legs before him.

He was exhausted.

Sleep was an unwelcome temptation that constantly crept at the edges of his consciousness, tempting with illusions of rest, yet leading only to nightmares. His plan to combat them was simple: if he did not sleep then he would not dream. It was ingenious and would've been even Dante-proof if he could only figure out how to forgo it entirely.

While he had never needed much sleep in the past, his current condition was deplorable and could no longer take the strain half as well. Caffeine could only take him so far and he disliked relying on anything other than his own (admittedly diminishing) strength.

But his choices for distractions were pitifully limited. Vergil could no longer research effectively, words blurring themselves into an unintelligible mess whenever he let himself relax even slightly. His blade had been growing heavier in his hand as well; he could no longer count on the adrenaline rush of a good fight to keep him going when he could hardly focus on his enemies. There was no escaping it – Vergil knew that he had to give in to sleep sooner or later.

He obstinately chose later.

Vergil cast a distasteful look at the crowded distance and wondered what in the world Kyrie had been so eager to see here.

As if the very thought of her name was a summoning, his tired eyes picked out a figure decked in cotton-white make her way through the mob and towards his hiding place. But instead of skirting the crowd, she made her way through its heart, completely at ease in the midst of the rabble as they made way for, and towards, her. Children came running to show off their frocks and suits, parents approached with warm smiles and hugs to engage in some small talk. His five second prowl took her a full ten minutes as Kyrie clasped hands, righted lopsided bows and made affectionate greetings, as fully at ease with the crowd as he had found it confining.

"Kyrieeeee!" A dozen smiling faces crowded around her knees, tugged at her white shift and then dashed past in a rowdy game of tag; getting everywhere all at once in their excitement.

Said girl laughed and reached out to stroke down a rumpled shock of hair. "It'll be our turn soon enough. Only two more performances to go, so why don't we go find Ms. Greenfield and get ourselves ready? Be careful now – it would be a shame if your clothes mess up before you even get on stage."

There were anxious murmurs all around as the children began to tug skirts and pat trousers to rights. A harried kindergarten teacher came running through the crowd and, upon seeing the now more docile children, gave Kyrie an admiring look. "You have to teach me how to do that." She gave a frazzled sigh and began to hand out paper flowers to each of the children, who promptly squabbled over who had the prettiest bouquet. "Come along now; let's get in line!"

Kyrie was helping out with the distribution when an impatient hand pulled at her skirt.

"Why didn't you dress up more?" Came the exasperated sigh of a six year old. "You're supposed to be a princess! Look – I have _three_ ribbons, but you don't even have one!"

"Oh," Kyrie looked thoughtful. "I didn't really think about that. It's alright though, you can be princess enough for both of us."

"That's not good enough!"

"Hm… So what should I do to look more princess-y?"

A few girls perked up.

"Ooh – I have some Hello Kitty lip gloss! It's strawberry flavoured."

"We can put some flowers in your hair! There's some on the bush by the front gate,"

"But my mommy said princesses have crowns…"

"We don't have one – "

"There's gold wrapping paper on the teacher's desk!"

"I'll get it!"

Kyrie amiably let herself be put under the children's busy hands; their ministrations proving useful to distract herself from her pounding heart and nerves. She took a deep breath and concentrated on the feel of the wooden bench she had been herded to and on the little fingers combing through her hair, which had been let loose on this special occasion.

She was a little nervous. Maybe even a tinsy bit scared of facing that crowd beyond the curtains of the stage. But she was going to do this to the best of her abilities because everyone had worked so hard on it and the children would be so disappointed if she backed out now because of a shameful excuse such as nerves.

She was going to conquer her fears and get up there on and sing. On stage. In front of dozens of strangers. Who would all be staring, scrutinizing her every move...

"Almost done!"

"Ooh, you look so pretty-ful Kyrie!"

"And then you can meet your prince charming and give him a big kiss!" There was a conspiratorial giggle.

The boys who had been watching with amused interest instantly drew back, looks of horror and disgust on their faces.

"Oh gross!"

A swarthy boy whacked his playmate none too gently. "Don't bully others – it's not nice even if they are girls."

"Go away!" A girl sniffed.

"Babies." Another agreed.

"I know you are, but what am I?"

Before the squabbling could begin in earnest, two children dashed back from the classroom, triumphant looks on their faces.

"We got it! Look Kyrie – look!"

A misshapen crown, folded out of gold paper and covered almost entirely in tape was passed around and admired at all angles.

"Now you're a princess." The tallest of the girls reverently placed it atop Kyrie's dark head and beamed.

"Thank you so much; it's lovely." Kyrie spoke honestly, feeling her nervousness abate at the swell of gratitude to the thoughtfulness of their gesture. "I bet no princess has ever had a crown so beautiful."

All of a sudden there was a loud cheer from the court, where the makeshift stage had been erected. Kyrie and the children paused, exchanging startled looks.

"Wow! That sounds like a lotta people!"

"My mommy said she brought my Unckie and Auntie to watch!"

"We're next right?"

This began a bout of nervous and giddy chatter at which her trepidation came back at full force, reminding Kyrie that she was acutely and thoroughly nervous.

Kyrie stepped away quietly, forgotten in the midst of the excitement, and slipped off to the side of the chattering children and to the currently abandoned playground that seemed to offer the only chance for solitude.

What if she stumbled on stage or mixed her words up? What if she forgot the lyrics and stood there mutely? What if she hit a sour note or… or…

Worse still, Nero hadn't come yet. Kyrie scanned the crowd anxiously, her insides twisting at the mass that had gathered there that day. Even the glint of camcorders and cameras had looked particularly menacing in the harsh afternoon light and she took a shaky breath.

"Hang in there Kyrie; it will be alright." She murmured fiercely, pacing the length of the playground. "You've sang in public dozens of times before and haven't embarrassed yourself yet… You can do this!"

"Well, there's always a first time for everything." Came a low, velvet drawl and Kyrie straightened up instantly.

"There doesn't have to be." She cocked her head to the side, listening hard. "Or at least it doesn't have to be now."

"True. Although now's as good a time as any."

Kyrie traced the sound to come from the shadowed corner of the playground. "…I don't quite like your logic."

"My logic doesn't like anybody very much; don't take it to heart."

She couldn't help but laugh at the wryness of his tone.

Suddenly, from far away came a mocking echo of laughter from the crowd, as if to shake the peace that Kyrie had managed to gain from this unexpected meeting. She licked strawberry-flavoured lips and clasped her hands tightly.

"Vergil," Came the fierce whisper. "_What if I throw up_?"

He surprised both her and himself by chuckling; an exhausted, low baritone that nevertheless sent a pleasant shiver down her spine and delighted musically sensitive ears. She moved past the slide and came face to face with Vergil, who gave her a raised eyebrow of acknowledgement from his recline on a panda stool.

"Oh – you're wearing normal clothes!" Kyrie backtracked quickly. "I mean, different ones. In a good way. Not that your usual clothes don't look normal or good. I mean…"

Her blush only heightened his amusement as he dryly replied, "I'm glad you approve." Vergil had opted to wear more casual clothing for his daytime reconnoiter: an ebony overcoat left unbuttoned to reveal the grey sweater that hung gracefully atop broad shoulders and a navy scarf, draped across the long legs clad in dark denim.

He plucked the makeshift crown from restless fingers before it could be further shredded.

"No – I mean yes, of course, but… What I really want to say is, I'm really happy that you came!" She finished wringing her hands to smile, so honestly glad to see him that Vergil could say nothing.

Kyrie fished out a pink bunny stool and sat uninvited beside him. "Have you had the chance to go around the fair? I haven't forgotten my promised bribe, so if anything's caught your eye…"

"I'm fine." He let the crown dangle from the tip of a long finger and studied it, forehead knitted. "I'd rather you not throw up near my vicinity though if you're feeling that nauseous."

"Oh – I'm not sick or anything, just… nervous."

"I gathered as much from your little soliloquy. If I ask you what it is and feign appropriate interest, will that incite you to leave?"

"Not if it will deprive me of the pleasure of your company." She was learning, he thought resignedly, to return his taunts with decidedly softened quips of her own.

"Alright then, I won't ask."

The silence stretched between them for a moment until Kyrie threw him a sideways look. "Um… If you do have the sudden urge to ask though, do feel free."

"Hm."

"And… you know." Kyrie attempted a dismissive wave of her hand that would have looked unconcerned if only her voice didn't waver slightly. "In the event of me embarrassing myself beyond repair, I would understand it if you choose never to associate with me again."

"Alright."

"And – oh, Vergil, I changed my mind." Kyrie buried her head unto her lap, voice muffled and desperate. "Please! Feign interest!"

"Well then," His face remained smoothly impassive. "In the case that your voice cracks in the middle of the song or you trip on some sniveling child and fall off the stage or have the crowd suddenly decide that they'd much rather beat themselves to death with their cameras rather than to listen to your singing- "

"Vergil…!" Came the nervous wail.

"…I will wait for you to come crawling back and, regardless of your disgrace, tell you that you did a good job." He finished. "Will that suffice?"

Kyrie raised her head to peek at him from behind her fingers. "…Were you trying to be comforting?"

He gave an elegant shrug. "Did it work?"

Funny enough, it did. Kyrie bit her lip lightly before pressing her clasped hands tightly against her lips and closing her eyes. "Please…" Came the taut whisper. "Will you tell me I'll be alright?"

"…You'll be alright." He repeated after a lengthy pause. Although it wasn't precisely in his nature to be so obliging, but Vergil saw no harm in humouring the girl this one time.

"If you don't mind…with more conviction!"

He studied the paleness of her cheeks beneath a lidded gaze. "You'll be alright."

"I'll do my best and that's all that everyone expects of me, right?"

"No." His voice rose, clear and sharp. "You'll do your best because that's what you should expect of yourself."

"Oh." Kyrie's dark eyes flickered open. "That too."

"That most of all." He agreed.

"…Now if you could just say that with a smile…"

"Don't push it." Came the warning growl.

Vergil did not find the sound of Kyrie's pealing laughter unpleasant.

There came a boisterous cheer from the crowd, signalling the end of the previous performance and Vergil reached out to drop the misshapen crown atop Kyrie's head as she rose to her feet.

"Vergil?"

Said man returned her gaze with half-lidded but chary eyes. "What?"

"Thank you."

His answering sigh was soft and nearly imperceptible from the leaf rustle the autumn wind blew by.

"Get out there and sing."

* * *

_._

_Dance me into the night_

_Underneath the moon shining so bright_

_Turning me into the light_

_Time dances, whirling past_

_I gaze through the looking glass_

_And feel just beyond my grasp is heaven_

_._

_._

Nero jiggled his leg restlessly as Agnus stuck probes against the luminescent blue of his demonic arm, both their gazes fixed onto the screen that displayed various measurements of an erratic nature.

"So why don't the pills work?" Nero demanded impatiently.

"The medication is still in the testing process. It's understandable if the suppressors d-d-don't work as they ought to for every s-s-single dosage." Agnus tapped several keys and the data on the screen saved into a disk that he promptly slipped into a fraying pouch in his belt. He took a seat behind his new desk and chair, taking a moment to admire the new furniture he had bought to replace the ones that Gloria had raged on, before picking up a cup and handing it to Nero.

"D-d-drink this. It should amplify today's dose." He lied, watching as the young man thoughtlessly did so. "What kind of d-d-dreams did you have? Research has shown that the s-s-subconscious often relates vital information this way."

"I don't remember." He replied testily. "What are you – a shrink? Stick the practicals on me: how long will it take for the next batch of suppressors? What do I do in the meanwhile?"

Agnus hesitated before replying. As he had told Gloria, he had begun to switch Nero's pills with harmless sugar placebos – but to keep the boy ignorant of that fact for the next week and avoid being shot at would be difficult to say the least. "…Have you tried deep b-breathing or yoga?"

Nero's lips curled into an amiable smile that unnerved Agnus more than the usual death glare. "Funny man aren't you? Ha. Ha. Bonus ha for saying that with a straight face to someone who can blow your brains out faster than you can blink."

"Mrrr, feisty today as well aren't we?"

The door swung open with a soft whoosh of air and Gloria sashayed in.

Nero yanked his arm back a split-second too late, and her eyes flickered first from his demonic arm then to his pale face.

But the door had been locked! Nero tried to swallow away the sudden dryness in his throat. He had always made sure of that – there was no way he wouldn't have locked the door before having the check-up. However, the fact that she was standing there, inquisitive eyes raking over his demonic arm told him the truth…

It was over.

No one other than Credo and Agnus had known about his condition – no one else would be half so understanding or willing to keep such an immense secret. For the past eight years since he had come under the Order's wing, Nero had kept knowledge of his arm under lock and key; a jealously guarded secret that promised dreadful consequences if divulged to the wrong person. So he told no one, hoping that by keeping apart from others he could remain with Credo and Kyrie as well as delay the inevitable witch hunt from the purists of the Order. But here it was - the beginning of the end of his peaceful world.

It had been nice while it lasted.

"This… this isn't…" He began defiantly, helplessly, but Gloria hardly batted an eye.

"Ah, I suppose that's why you're so talented at slaying." Her face betrayed nothing but mild amusement. "Agnus, be a dear and contact Credo for me. The coffee in the precinct is absolutely horrendous and now I want to yell at somebody."

Nero stared incredulously as Agnus heaved a sigh and dutifully left the room, presumably to call for the missing commander.

"Y…You're not going to tell anyone? Or throw me off the force?" His voice rose a little, in a strange mixture of anger and relief at her easy acceptance of his demonic arm. This was a little surreal, considering he had long ago resigned himself to disownment, no – more likely disembowelment, if anyone had ever found out his secret.

"And why would I do that?" Gloria's low chuckle didn't grate as heavily on Nero's nerves as usual. "You and I – we're a lot more alike than you think darling."

Gloria perched herself on the edge of the table, admiring her perfect manicure with affected indifference. "That must have been a tough secret to keep. Who else knows?"

"Aside from Agnus… Credo." Despite not liking to talk about his demonic abilities, Gloria's earlier words intrigued him and Nero found himself answering her questions in the hope that she's do the same. "You mentioned earlier that we're alike. What did you mean…?"

"Now, now. Every woman has to have her secrets. It keeps the men guessing and adds to the mystery about her." Gloria's answering smile was almost sincere. "I know it's not a great consolation, but you're not alone in this. We're all fighting our battles and we all keep our sordid secrets – but we aren't the giving up type now, are we?"

For a split second, Nero caught a glimpse though her unabashed posturing to a woman no less sensual, but a little more vulnerable – someone who struggled and was tired and felt pain. Someone… a little more human.

"Damn right." He almost smiled in return, but caught himself in time. "Uh… I gotta go; Kyrie's fair should be starting soon." Nero fumbled over the glove and felt his heart leap in shock as white clad hands closed over his own.

Gloria slid the leather down snuggly and pulled the zip close in one smooth motion, ignoring his suddenly tensed up figure, muscles coiled in classic fight or flight readiness.

"You look tired. Had a few sleepless nights?" Came the purring query.

And as if her words were some signal, the toll of the week's worth of sleepless nights and fatigue suddenly came crashing down. His brain was suddenly sleep-fuddled, limbs useless and leaden. Gloria noticed the sudden droop of his body and caught him just before he tumbled to the floor.

"Agnus!" He heard her panicked cry and despite the sudden searing heat that coursed from his arm to his whole body, was touched at her concern. "Something's wrong with Nero!"

It wasn't as simple as pain – even that would have been more welcome than the strange, alien sensation of his body shutting down.

His glazed gaze caught the white blob that might have been Agnus, stumble-run in and began to say something in a voice that he supposed was meant to be soothing but only made him sound even creepier than usual.

"…ie…" Nero croaked.

Gloria leaned forward, a cool hand smoothing back his hair back. "What is it?"

"Te…" And with all the strength he could muster, he managed. "Tell Ky..rie I'll… be la…te."

Then, Nero knew no more.

* * *

_._

_Sacred geometry_

_Where movement is poetry_

_Visions of you and me forever_

_Dance me into the night_

_Underneath the moon shining so bright_

_._

_._

Vergil's sharp ears caught the pleased cooing of the parents as little footsteps tromped across the stage as well as the flood of camera clicks that ensued. Then came a polite silence as the soft strains of violin weaved in with the spicy autumn air, punctuated only by the occasional shuffle of some proud parent or nervous kindergartener on stage.

He watched lacy clouds sail across the uncannily blue sky, feeling as if the world had drawn into itself to wait with eager expectation the promised song.

Then, she sang the first pure note and his breath caught between heart and throat.

It was a moon-kissed voice, romancing the ear and captivating the heart. The whimsical melody was strangely haunting; tasting of candle lit memories and velvet darkness. Perhaps because the nightmares had been ripping, tearing, gouging into the weaknesses of his heart, but it had been wearing his defenses away to the point where he was too tired to hate anyone, not even himself.

He fancied that this was what redemption must taste like.

Lulled by the gentle croon of her voice and the thrumming serenade from the violin, Vergil closed his eyes and allowed himself, for the first time in so many years, to fall – willingly, trustingly, deeply - asleep.

.

.

_Let the dark waltz begin_

_Oh let me wheel - let me spin_

_Let it take me again_

_Turning me into the light_


	16. Soul Touch

**Chapter 16**

When Kyrie returned to the secluded portion of the playground to find Vergil fast asleep, she hadn't the heart to take offense. Though she had welcomed his presence here today, she had felt his exhaustion from their earlier exchange as if it were her own. His complexion had been disturbingly sallow, the shadows beneath his eyes veritable bruises, and though the powerfully built man could never be mistaken as fragile, it had felt like he was a piano wire that had been stretched out - too far, too thin.

As quietly as she could, Kyrie returned to her seat and set down the coffee-bribe she had bought.

Vergil slept with arms wrapped protectively around his abdomen – still and silent. There was no snuffle-y sleep breaths, no dream induced flicker from ivory-blue eyelids, not even the slightest flicker of a pulse from the gap of his coat front that exposed the masculine throat. Here was a statue that rivaled even Michelangelo's David: all elegance and grace with the cold, unyielding perfection of stone. Kyrie could see traces of the thoughtful frowns and the dark glares on the set of his forehead and edges of his eyes and lips, chiseled gently in. The fading light cast dark shadows beneath the ivory cheekbones, like two sharp slashes across the hollow cheeks; she fancied she would cut herself by brushing against his skin and fought with the urge to try.

For some time now, Kyrie had found herself more and more… aware of the older man. It was confusing, startling and wholly unsettling, especially because it was a different sort of consciousness from the wholehearted respect she had for Credo, or the comfortable warmth she felt for Nero, or even the wary fondness she regarded Dante with. Vergil was different from every man she had ever met: all shadow and ice and venom at razor-edges. There was something bitterly angry about him, something unbending and relentless and so very proud. He would not spare anyone what he thought, he would do what he thought needed to be done, and while he was harsh on people, Kyrie knew that he was harsher on himself.

It was because of this that she found that she trusted him. In fact, she rather deeply admired him.

The wind had tugged a strand of silver spun hair free to brush against the ivory eyebrows, and thoughtlessly, she reached out to smooth the errant lock of hair back in place.

Blue eyes, the shade of the winter sea and twice as lonely, bored suddenly into her own as his hand shot out to catch her at the wrist. In that moment, the world as they knew it changed in a course of blood-warmth and soul-touch.

There was a knitting together, a seamless uniting, a coming together of pieces that had not known they were pieces until they became whole. Trapped between the shadows of his fingers around her wrist, in their mingled heat and delving deeper than marrow, there it was: the soul-wrenching warmth of belonging after being alone for so long.

Vergil pushed down on the rising panic. More than a little disconcerted from the sudden transition from sleep to waking, and alarmed with the feeling that something had deeply and irrevocably changed. He had faced hell spawn, demon princes, had been possessed, and was on intimate terms with death. He had scraped himself out of more dangerous situations than he could count, relying on nothing more than his warrior's physique, strategist's acumen and Yamato at his side. He had literally gone to hell and back and resignedly expected to be faced with another apocalyptic scenario or two... but in the face of this unexpected gentleness, he was completely and utterly lost.

Kyrie's eyes were alight with wonder and when her lips parted, the soft exhale of his name felt right and full of belonging, and was so very very sweet.

As if in response, an emotion he had not felt in so long bloomed in his chest. It was pure, it was terrifying - it was joy.

She instinctively reached out – and the desire for her touch was so immense that his own longing frightened him. Vergil could take it no longer: he ripped himself away in a movement so sudden and violent it made both of them cry out at the sheer loss.

Without knowing the reason why, Kyrie began to weep.

He leapt to his feet, chest heaving and wide-eyed. He stared at the tears that trickled from between the clenched fingers and the urge to comfort her was the final straw.

Vergil fled.

* * *

There were two kinds of sleep, Nero realized.

The first was the dark and deep kind, the sort that put one beyond dreaming into blessed and quiet rest. The other was a blur of shapes and colours and shades of feeling, of wordless, near-endless, screaming.

Not the type of screams one would make when they saw a spider, not even the kind elicited from the appearance of mass murderers from behind closet doors. No – these were the kind that came from somewhere deep inside ones throat, below stomach, into guts, from marrow and the spaces in between soul and body. It was a horrible, terrible, inhumane sound that grew more despairing when Nero realized that the hellish cry had been coming from him.

Nero choked on screams till he managed to fight and swallow it down, teeth clamping on lips to prevent even the hints of a whimper from escaping. The silence made his eardrums ring and he fought the urge to sob and allow the screams their freedom.

.

.

.

_- …vitals are 90 over 62, pulse at 59… -_

_ - …body is in essence h-h-human. There is necessity to readjust to the energy, which is no longer regulated by the m-m-medicine. – _

_- …C.T. results are back…-_

_- …he's hypoxic; PCO2's at 62…-_

.

.

.

"Good job!" A small hand smacked his shoulder with friendly violence and Nero blinked through tears to find he was not alone.

Beside him was a little boy whose cheeky grin was so familiar it was like his own smile, and who incited complicated feelings of resentment and protectiveness. Then Nero would join the blue-eyed little boy in traveling across the watercolour-splashed dreamscape. Time passed in a blur of play-fights that somehow ended up more of fight than play, silly one-sided conversations and even sillier dares. He found himself wading into a stream of colour, both mock-splashing the other with water that never got them wet.

"This is getting boring," The kid hopped nimbly on his hands and began to showoff a handstand. "What do you wanna do next?"

_Let's go home, _Nero wanted to say, but did not for fear of letting the screams escape again. Nevertheless, the world shifted in answer to his desire, and his surroundings grew familiar – of asphalt and grey stone buildings and stoplights that flashed green, yellow, red.

And in the distance was a girl.

.

.

.

_- …his body has cleansed itself of the s-s-suppressors faster than anticipated…-_

_- Heart rate is slowing…-_

_- Intubation tray here! Airway is clear of obstruction; inserting tube… - _

_._

_._

_._

S_he was coming, _he turned to gesture to the kid excitedly, but the boy had continued to walk on his hands, away, away, away, and Nero still dared not speak aloud. He was contemplating on catching up to the kid and bringing him back, when she arrived and the curve of her lips, he swears, was a song.

Nero listened to her smile and learned all about belonging and warmth and kindness and grace - the kind that didn't have to be earned but was willingly given; the kind that saved. Even as he loved her, he was aware of the distance, that she was closed off and unfathomable to him. There was a secret that lingered in the corner of her lips, and no matter how much he wanted to decipher its meaning, to learn why her lips, arched in graceful laughter, was _so_ _lonely_, he did not understand.

Frustration made his blood boil hot – and his arm answered in turn. Luminous fingers of black and blue flamed beneath skin that barely kept from consuming itself, and he reached out to grasp the slender neck. Nero tried to stop himself, but somehow the stopping was more reflex than want and if he had to be honest with himself, what he wanted most was her. Her: in between his fingers, trickling down his arms, painting his chest and staining his lips. Maybe then he would understand, and that thought made his fingers tighten in response.

Then, she was gone, bringing song and all light along with her.

He tried desperately to find her, but the shadows had been waiting and pounced on the chance that presented itself. His nostrils filled with the burn of brimstone and the coppery scent of blood, into familiar nightmares.

He was falling.

.

.

.

_- …octor, blood pressure is dropping… -_

_- Patient is not breathing! Flat line; rp at… - _

_- Nero's b-b-body is adjusting to the change. These are the changes that Nelo Angelo had originally programmed in his host; changes that have been repressed and are now m-m-manifesting themselves - _

_- Prepare the vasopressin!-_

_._

_._

_._

Wind tore past his ears as he free-fell down, down, down – deeper into the bowels of what he knew had to be hell. He tried in vain to stop himself, aware that the further he went the more difficult it would be to escape, but there was nothing to grab at, no one to help slow his fall. Hours passed, then days, months, years - entire lifetimes of nothing but the scream of the wind and his own barely audible whimpers in the darkness that surrounded him.

Then he realized that the sounds he had been so used to were not from the wind hurtling past; they were real, terrified, and begged for mercy.

It was the screech of a thousand suffering souls, of curses, threats, pleading, and eventually, wordless sobbing. The din in his head was agony, distilled and concentrated, of the tormented and the tormentors alike. Stuck in a dream he could not wake from, Nero opened his mouth to beg for help, but the scream that he had been fighting back, managed to wriggle out, stronger and more viciously than before.

Nero screamed in turn, till his throat hurt, till nothing came out of his lips but a wordless, defeated moan.

_._

_._

_._

_- …his body is c-c-cleansing itself of the accumulated suppressors. It knows exactly what it should do so… - _

_- Starting cardiac massage… -_

_- …gative! Defibrillator on; 200! - _

_-…rything will be just fine. – _

_- …resuscitators at the ready. - _

_- Clear!-_

_._

_._

_._

The end came suddenly in a burst of hellfire: peeling flesh in ashy chunks, evaporating blood before it had time to boil, searing all the way to bone.

So this is hell, came the vague thought before Nero was swallowed deeper into the darkness.

The screaming continued.

* * *

Dante was in the midst of a maintenance check of the various blades, guns and miscellaneous weaponry that he had gathered throughout his years as a hunter. The house was filled with the quiet of contemplation, an activity Dante had begun to engage in with growing frequency these past few months since his brother's return.

Lady had left to trace the influx of demon summonings to the South and Trish was going to set out to some of her own contacts that evening to dig information on the Gloria and her sudden re-appearance. Dante was left to mull over the sparse information that they had managed to gather so far, ready his weaponry and wait for the signal for him to take center-stage.

Patient, he was not; but he had learned the advantage of biding his time and letting his enemies sweat.

Maybe years ago Dante would have stormed in the precinct where the Order and Gloria were rumoured to be, finger on trigger, sword drawn – hacking, slashing, and in his haste to protect - destroy. But time had calmed his initial rush in attitude and whatever devil-may-care façade he may put on, Dante was always meticulous in his mayhem.

He took a shotgun apart, brushing down barrels with practiced ease.

Kyrie had mentioned that her brother worked in the precinct - but a little digging revealed what she had not mentioned: that he was the Chief of Police of this city and a high-ranking follower of the Order of the Sword, the very same organization that had been unusually prepared for the demon summonings and which had worshiped his father as some sort of deity (Dante fought the urge to snort).

Could she have been a spy? It was too convenient a coincidence.

But Trish had decided upon Kyrie, seeing the girl hunting around the job postings around the supermarket, and Dante doubted that even spies could have anticipated the decision on whim to look for a housekeeper. Furthermore, he had talked with the girl, ate her cookies, and rather liked how she did his laundry, rolling his socks into little balls that made it so much easier to find pairs. Dante hadn't felt even the slightest hint of any motive, ulterior or otherwise, in Kyrie doing her job; and Dante thought himself a pretty good judge of character. Even if he had been duped, Vergil was an even harsher and more suspicious evaluator than he was – and the man had also warmed up to the younger girl.

In fact, Dante nearly had a heart-attack when he realized that his older twin had been walking the girl back home after work. All those cradle-snatching jokes and growing-soft jibes that came to mind were squashed down with some difficulty – Dante being more than pleased at his brother actually making an effort to socialize with someone. Maybe her sunny nature and sweet manners was pulling him out of the dark moods; maybe it was just the presence of someone who had no knowledge of his past; maybe Vergil had a soft spot for the younger damsel-types – Dante really didn't care at the sight of his brother finally starting to become interested in something other than paying of his so called 'debt'.

So.

Either she was very good or they was getting very bad. Dante didn't even spare a thought for it possibly being nothing other than chance. Coincidence was not a word in his vocabulary – not when you were a half-demon half-human with actors from both worlds out for your blood.

So.

The only thing to really focus on was what was he going to do about his little housekeeper.

He tapped the edge of Rebellion and admired its gleaming surface before resheathing the blade. No need for maintenance there. Rebellion's blade was sharp enough to slice through thought – and she got all the polishing she needed from cleaving through demon gut and bone.

Suddenly, the front door burst open and Vergil came through the living room, looking as harried as Dante had ever saw him. Vergil took the steps two at a time and disappeared up the stairs, followed by a slam of a door and then, silence.

Dante didn't even wait for the last echo of the bang to die away before he was up the second landing and in front of his older brother's room. Dante reckoned that Vergil only had three expressions: angry, smirking and his default dead-pan glower. But split second glimpse of his older brother's eyes had shown a petrifying fourth: Vergil had been scared.

"Verge, " Dante pushed the door open to catch sight of the man in question pacing the room. "Oi, what's wrong?"

"Get out." Came the curt reply as the older twin merely continued to walk back and forth.

Dante's grip on Rebellion, which he had brought with him on his sudden dash, tightened. "Kyrie." He said simply.

Vergil stilled and slowly turned to study him. "What do you know?" Came the cold hiss and Dante's suspicions were further fuelled.

Dante felt his adrenalin rise in answer to the dangerous being before him. "Not enough. What are you hiding from me?"

He watched as his older brother clammed up, drawing himself tighter in, muscles coiled and primed for movement. The sword he had kept to replace Yamato had been drawn and Dante pulled Rebellion out in answer.

"Vergil." Dante studied his brother's face, wiped clean of emotion but turbulent beneath the surface of calm. "You told me you owe me. Because of some strange need to repay your 'debt', you've remained and have been helping out with the slaying. I appreciate it – heck, I'm mighty glad you're hanging around because this makes it just that much easier to keep tabs on you. I want you alive. I even respect you. But I sure as hell don't trust you."

Vergil said nothing, but he shifted slightly and Dante knew that his brother would strike in earnest. It had been a long time since they had faced each other seriously. He raised his own blade to point its naked edge at his brother to show his serious resolve.

"Has Kyrie approached you?" Dante continued quietly. "Offered a deal perhaps? A promise of prestige, some high up connection… a means of power?"

Vergil eyes darkened. "What are you on about?"

"It's a simple question," Dante rolled his shoulder, loosening it in preparation for the expected fight. "Are you stupid enough to betray me again?"

Vergil's strike was so fast that Dante was almost gutted. Some nerve had definitely been struck; Dante was surprised at the sheer ferocity of his older brother's attacks – at the speed and viciousness of each hack and slice. He twisted on booted toe and swung Rebellion, letting momentum bring with it power that Vergil just barely managed to parry.

Something was different; was strange. Vergil had been weakened since his possession and Dante had resolved never to hold back when they were fighting – both as a means of courtesy from one warrior to another and in principle that people who pissed him off needed to learn their painful lesson. As a result, each scuffle (and there had been several) had ended fairly quick with Dante as the uncontested winner.

But this time, Vergil held his own; thrusting, slicing, parrying and blocking with characteristic deadly grace. Dante was transported to a time when they were much younger, remembering a dangerous dance atop Hell's tower where each stroke was death approaching: exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

But Dante had improved since then and eventually, the after-effects of Vergil's possession made itself known. Dante began to relax as he was soon pushing Vergil back, who had begun to breath heavily before his younger twin was even winded.

"Stand down and make this easier for all of us, Verge." Dante averted a blow with a simple flick of his wrist. His brother kicked a chair towards Dante's face in reply, swinging his blade low in an attempt to severe the muscles of Dante's thigh. The younger son of Sparda dodged the spinning piece of furniture and caught the naked blade with a gloved hand, twisting it out of Vergil's grip and finishing the fight with a blow to the abdomen.

Vergil took a step back, winded and in pain but refusing to let himself fall in front of his brother.

Dante shook his head at the display of stubbornness, deeming the fight to be clearly over as he resheathed Rebellion. "Fine. If you're not willing to answer then maybe Kyrie will." Dante ignored the tense set of Vergil's shoulders, turning to leave the ruined room.

"..on't…"

"What…?" Dante glanced back, the hair on his nape prickling at the sudden shift of power in the room.

_"Don't touch her."_ Came the snarl, and Dante barely had time to register Vergil's livid face, inches from his own before he felt a blow to his jaw with enough force to propel him backwards, crashing through the door and knocking it off its hinges before he fell flat into the hallway.

Dante immediately leapt to his feet, hand reaching for Rebellion to fend of the attack that never came. Instead, Vergil stood there, staring at his hands as his chest heaved for breath. Stunned blue eyes met his equally stunned blue own.

Vergil took a moment to re-orient himself.

It was because of her – because of what had happened. That was the only explanation he could think of under these circumstances. Strength coursed through his body – made his blood hum and made leaden limbs light. The urge to see Kyrie, to go back and find out how else she could free him – overpowered even his initial reservations about this whole Consort-Magnet situation.

But…

He loathed the idea of being used, and this whole situation was far too similar to his possession at Mundus' hands for him to be completely comfortable with it. He was appalled that he had let his guard drop down, that even then he longed to return to her side. In fact, when he realized what had happened he had – there was no sugarcoating it – run away faster than even Dante faced with the threat of commitment had. If he had needed any more proof to know what she was, what she had just become_, _it was all there in the keen ache of desire that made each breath near impossible at her distance. She was a Demon Magnet and he, in a moment of carelessness, might just have officially become her Consort.

So.

Vergil knew that one did not solve problems by ignoring them and hoping that they would go away.

So.

He would take control; he would master it. He would turn this situation from being the biggest liability into his greatest asset.

He would not loose.

And if the sudden interest in the return to his old strength she could bring about in him was a factor at all, who could blame him?

"You're back." Was all Dante could manage to croak with his sore jaw. "You… you're really getting your power back, aren't you?"

Vergil slowly met his brother's apprehensive gaze.

Ah yes – but before he could go to Kyrie, here were more pressing concerns. Dante would be a formidable foe, and while he seemed to have be willing enough to shelter and even protect (Vergil ignored the pang of annoyance at this particular thought) him when occasions necessitated it, Vergil knew that his younger brother would not tolerate any hint of a secret that might possibly endanger his precious Agency and friends.

Complete honesty wasn't usually in his nature. There was too much vulnerability… too much that could go wrong. People were such volatile variables. Vergil came to a decision then:

"Dante…what do you know about Demon Magnets?"


	17. Lemonade

**Chapter 17**

Kyrie was in the midst of the strange peace that only a good cry could bring.

After Vergil had left, it took all she could to gather her composure and stop the sobs from shaking her to pieces. It wasn't until a good half-hour later that her eyes were dry and her nose was no longer dripping; then a glimpse of the coffee cup bribe sent her into a fresh wave of tears. It was inexplicable, confusing, and a little frightening – but thinking about Vergil made her heart break anew.

When she managed to get herself to a semblance of calm and shoved all thoughts of what had just happened to the back of her mind, Kyrie returned to the main court to look for Nero. She was certain that if she could just see him again she could get her mind back to some semblance of peace– that things would return to their quiet, comfortable and everyday calm. But Nero could not be found and no one had seen hide or hair of him. Kyrie tried not to mind the sympathetic looks as people began to trickle away, the hustle and bustle of the school grounds becoming imbued with the soft silence that heralded the coming of night.

Still Nero didn't come.

It was only when she had run her list of excuses dry and the night guard of the Kindergarten was looking more annoyed than sympathetic that she finally left for home.

As soon as she arrived, Kyrie kicked off sensible heels and twisted her auburn hair up into a messy bun as she made a bee-line for the kitchen.

In an hour, the entire house was an explosion of baking smells and baked goods ranging from apple pie soaked rum and bitter-sweet caramel, to golden-crusted Madelines butter fragrant and lemon tinged. Dark chocolate and blueberry muffins dotted the countertop, cooling next to the coffee panna cotta with the sugar-spun crust while banana bread studded walnuts and spicy cinnamon conquered the stool. Batter-scraped bowls and flour covered rolling pins filled the sink, while measuring cups, empty bags of flour and pale white egg shells commandeered all other space in the kitchen.

So engrossed was she in filling the crème puffs that she hadn't noticed the front door open and the thump of boots approaching.

Credo took one look at the kitchen and cautiously asked: "Are you alright…?"

Kyrie jerked up and opened her mouth to try to explain that she was terrified.

Of the sudden explosion of demonic activity in her life, of the necessity of learning how to wield a gun, of the evasive half-truths she'd been telling just to keep her job. At the realization that she could not remember how Nero liked his coffee, that he still did not know that she disliked fruitcake muffins, that she could not stop thinking about Vergil and his eyes of equal parts fear and desire.

Whatever else this was, it was not normal. Kyrie had had crushes before, little flutterings of warmth in her chest and the twisting of an anxious stomach. There were sweaty palms and the trembling of knees - but nothing came close to what Vergil had made her feel at that moment his hand met hers. Pure and utter completion. She longed to be with him, needed him – and in some primitive and absolute way – belonged with him.

Panic threatened to choke her and Kyrie shut her mouth quickly.

Then she met his gaze and the weary eyes and the strain that prematurely lined her older brother's forehead and lips made her pause. Her brother had enough to deal with. Besides, this had the potential to be a very awkward, very dangerous conversation. So, instead, she smiled: "I am, thank you. Welcome home, Credo."

In answer, Credo laid his hand gently atop her head and stroked the dark hair for one quiet moment before pulling away. Kyrie found she had to struggle against the sudden prickle of tears and willed them back. She had done quite enough crying that day.

"When you're done here, go up and pack Nero's duffel." Credo turned to pick at a Madeline, giving his sister a moment's privacy. "He's been called on a mission and had no time to get anything."

"Nero's gone…?" Kyrie dabbed at her eyes with a flour-smeared apron and was dismayed at her reflection on the teakettle.

"Yes." Credo cleared a cupcake-laden stool and primly dusted the crumbs from his fingers. "He left this morning."

"This morning!" Her head jerked up, a frown tugging at her lips. So that was why he had not been at the fair! It was not the first time that he had been pulled into a case that necessitated him spending a few nights away from home, but he had never just upped and left without telling her before – and certainly not when he had made a promise to come. Kyrie wondered if it was fair for her to feel a little upset and more than a little hurt, but resigned herself to the thought that saving the world would have to take precedence over social niceties.

"It was an urgent matter that explicitly required his skills." Credo was unusually gentle in his response. "We're not certain when he'll be back – you need to be prepared for that."

Kyrie froze. "Is it… very dangerous?" She asked cautiously.

They were breaking rules here: Kyrie never asked about work and Credo spoke about it – but there was the feeling that today had been out of the ordinary for both of them and that rules were the least of their worries.

"Yes." Credo sighed heavily and she felt a chill grip her heart. "But when is it not?"

"Couldn't… couldn't I have wished him luck before he left?" She asked softly. "Maybe say goodbye…?"

"Are your wishes to help him or to help you?" Came the simple reply. "Sometimes, comfort is not necessary. Sometimes, kindness will do harm. Sometimes, good intentions hinder and hold back and do nothing but hurt."

Kyrie hung her head in shame and acknowledged that it was her self-satisfaction rather than anything that would actually help Nero. But… wouldn't he have wanted to see her too?

Uncertainty as to the answer of that filled her and made it difficult to breathe.

Kyrie mustered her brightest smile. "I'll go and pack the bag!" She managed before she stumble-ran up the stairs.

* * *

The whole Sunday was spent sending dust bunnies to their deaths.

Kyrie swept, scrubbed, polished and moved furniture to get to the crooks and crannies that had never, until that day, seen light. In the middle of scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smudge of dirt, Kyrie's stomach suddenly gave a loud rumble that made her jump – to realize that twilight had fallen and she had yet to eat since breakfast.

She was just starting on her third slice of pie when the dull roar of a motor began to make itself audible from down the street, slowly growing louder. She threw open the front door just as a bike come tearing down the street, its chrome and black body coming to a sharp stop inches from the curb.

Her heart fell when she realized the rider was a woman, wearing an outfit that she was hard-pressed not to blush. The woman brushed white-blonde hair back with a feline toss of her head, metallic gaze well below freezing.

"Kyrie, I would presume?" The woman's voice was a sensuous purr. "I'm Gloria, Nero's new boss and Credo's associate. I'm hoping you can grant me some of your ti… why. How curious."

A niggling memory rose to mind of the conversation at the precinct. This was Gloria? "Good eve, Lady Gloria. I thank you for taking care of my brother and Nero. Please let me know if I may be of service in turn – "

"You can do so right now." Gloria looked intrigued as she stepped up a little too close for Kyrie's comfort. "What are you?"

Kyrie's head shot up, her mouth suddenly dry. "Lately, I'm not sure I know myself." She spoke carefully. "Would you happen to have any idea?"

"Fascinating. If this was it, then it would explain…" Gloria looked delighted at something and gave her a smile that was considerably warmer. "Get on. There's a lot we have to talk about."

Kyrie was instantly wary. "Thank you for your invitation but I'm afraid I must decline. I'm waiting for – "

"Nero or Credo, right?" Was it her imagination or did Gloria's voice linger possessively on their names? "That's exactly the subject matter at hand. Don't you want to know where Nero went?"

She brought the engine back to life, and gestured lazily behind her. "Get on."

Curiosity won out and Kyrie climbed behind the cat-sensuous woman and gripped the dark leather of the seat with her knees. They were off in a roar of pungent smoke and burning rubber.

The streets and buildings flashed by and Kyrie wondered how many speed limit rules they had broken and how many turns they had taken. Gloria drove into side roads and then took the side roads of those side roads; first into fringes of the city then deeper in, where another face and heart of it thrived.

Gloria stopped in front of a neon-lit bar, red-bricked and covered with peeling posters and graffiti. She turned off the engine and strode in the establishment without another word leaving Kyrie to chase after her.

The place was dimly lit, smelling of alcohol, smoke and the faint sourness of vomit. Kyrie ignored the leers that were thrown her way as she took a seat, trying not to touch the sticky surface of the bar.

"A vodka tonic and…"

"Lemonade, please."

"…lemonade." Gloria smiled sweetly at the bartender who gave a phlegm-hoarse grunt and slammed their drinks unto the table.

The two women sipped their drinks in silence.

"Gloria." Kyrie straightened her back like someone preparing for a fight. "Would you tell me what you meant by asking me what I was? How am I different?" She couldn't help the nervous waver that crawled its way into her voice.

"I'll answer your questions if you'll answer mine." Gloria gave her an appraising look. "Do we have a deal?"

Kyrie only gave a short nod.

"I'm more attuned to the different world energies than most people are. It's part of the job description." White hair moved off her face with a confident toss of her head. "Your - shall we call it an aura? – feels particularly delicious."

"Delicious..?!" Kyrie tried not to be horrified.

"Yes. Imagine velvet cushions or a glass of red vintage, perfectly aired. You feel like that."

While Kyrie was busy mulling over the new information, Gloria leant her elbows against the counter with a soft sigh.

"I've wanted to meet you for the longest time." She traced the rim of her drink with a delicate finger. "I heard that you're very close to Nero."

"We've been friends since we were young." Kyrie began slowly, "He's one of the most important people in my life."

"Friend?" Gloria raised a dainty eyebrow. "I was of the impression that you two were lovers."

Kyrie blushed at the implication and quickly took a gulp of her drink only to grimace at the overly sweet taste. "Um, we're not quite at that stage yet…"

"'Not quite'? 'Yet'?" The older woman looked almost relieved. "That is interesting confidence."

Kyrie almost wished for another demon influx to happen right then and there. Her cheeks flamed. "I-it's not so much confidence as… um, we've been together for so long it seems unthinkable that he won't be in my life."

"So, you're settling." Gloria looked amused as she drained her drink and waved the bartender for another. "Let me guess: everyone around you has been saying it for so long it's become an expectation and so you're fulfilling it."

Kyrie's mouth felt dry. "I beg your pardon, but I don't think you know us well enough to make an assumption like that – "

"I don't need to make an assumption, hun, I know." Gloria swirled her drink with elegant calm. "The signs are there: you two are growing and growing apart. He doesn't know what's going on in your life and neither do you know what's happening in his. If you had, you wouldn't have invited him to such a trivial thing when Nero's been on the edge, what with the sudden promotion and having his condition worsen at the same time."

"Promotion?" Kyrie could only repeat dumbly. "Condition?"

"Oh dear, I did so hope I was wrong. So he hasn't told you?" Gloria's gaze was so openly pitying as she slipped a white-gloved arm comfortingly around Kyrie's limp own. "Do forget about it then, it's not in my place to speak if he hasn't said anything. But don't worry too much about it, dear – men are awfully tightlipped about personal matters. He probably didn't want to worry you."

"I don't… He's not…" Kyrie's head swam and she tried to pull away, but Gloria's grip on her arm was firm.

"Just forget I said anything." Gloria suddenly reached out, and Kyrie couldn't help but flinch as the cold leather touched her cheek. "And don't trouble your pretty little head about it. I'm sure you've had a lot to deal with on your side. As his boss, I'll take good care of Nero for your stead too."

"I…I…" Kyrie rose to her feet, disentangling herself from Gloria's grip so quickly it was almost rude. "I need to use the bathroom!"

"You'll have to step out of the bar and use the public restrooms down the corner." Gloria dropped her gaze unto her drink, eyes flashing laughter. "Go ahead and take your time~"

Kyrie fled out of the bar and gulped down the sour air outside. She found the toilets quickly enough and made a bee-line for the sink where she splashed water on her face and tried to get her thoughts together.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, the harsh white light making her dark eyes seem even larger against her ashen face.

_A promotion? _

She most certainly was not settling! So they hadn't seen each other in some time… one didn't have to know absolutely _everything_ in order to be friends or whatever-they-were-supposed-to-be. It was okay to have their own separate lives too.

_Condition?_

Enough was enough, she decided firmly. She was going to talk to Nero and get all this nonsense straightened out.

_How did he like his coffee? _

…_Did he even like coffee?_

Kyrie shook the water out of her bangs and left the toilet.

On the way back to the bar, she skirted trashcans and rats, ignoring the noisy conversation from the nearby parking lot where some people were lounging on upturned crates, beer bottles littering the floor. Someone must have made a joke, because there was a sudden burst of raucous laughter and Kyrie turned to catch the eye of a man with dyed red hair that curled seductively into almond eyes of the most vivid green.

He wore a black muscle-shirt that showed off a serpent tattoo that curled around his left bicep and had a woman that was similarly twined around his right, giggling drunkenly. The man flashed her a wink and bent his head to whisper in the woman's ear. Her look of displeasure was quickly quelled when the man gripped her brunette hair to give her the most passionate kiss Kyrie had ever seen, to the catcalls of the group. The woman closed her eyes in pleasure and before Kyrie could avert her gaze, he had slid out of the woman's grasp and crossed the street towards Kyrie's side. The woman slumped on the crate, a dreamy smile on her face.

"Hey," The man's lips curled into a gypsy's grin, peering at her from beneath eyelashes so heavy it was a wonder he could see through them. "What's a nice girl like you doing alone in a place like this? You don't seem like the type."

"Is it really that obvious?" Kyrie's cheeks blazed with embarrassment. "I'm actually with someone. I'm very sorry to bother you – I didn't mean to look. I'll just – "

"Your boyfriend?" The man sounded comically dismayed. "Figures that a pretty little thing like you would be taken."

"No," Kyrie wondered how she could make her escape. From the corner of her eye, she saw another scantily clad woman approach the slumped brunette; perhaps her friend? "Um, so if you'll excuse me – "

"Well, my day just picked up!" He interrupted once again, fingers catching an unbound strand of hair that hung between them. "How about you forget about this friend of yours and hang out with me instead? I know a really good restaurant where - "

"Thank you, but I have to go." It was Kyrie's turn to cut in, as politely as she could. From the corner of her eye, she saw the friend's face contort in curiosity and then fear as she began to shake the unmoving brunette's shoulders. Kyrie's feeling of unease grew. "Have a good night."

"Why so cold?" The man was practically purring into her ear as he threw an arm around her. "C'mon – let's get to know each other better…"

"Please let me go. I'll scream otherwise." Kyrie tried to speak as calmly as she could.

When he made no move to do so, Kyrie raised her voice. "Gloria!" She called out loudly and the men in the group burst out into guffaws.

"Sorry, babe," A man with gold-teeth smirked at her as he rose to his feet. "But that doesn't work here. Scream all you want - no one cares." He made to reach for her and Kyrie screamed.

To her horror, the men only grinned more widely as they approach. She felt the man's breath, hot and smelling like alcohol against her shoulder. Upset, Kyrie dug her nails into his arm and he loosened his grip with a yelp.

"After her! That bi - " She heard the injured man howl as his companions gave chase, no longer amused.

With her heart in her throat and knees trembling so hard she was afraid she'd trip - Kyrie ran.

_Still, Nero didn't come._

* * *

The music boomed loud and insistent; a steady trance beat that Dante matched with his fingertips against the vinyl couch.

Vergil had talked to him. Had explained his problems. Had asked his advice and help and was asking for his view on things. They were communicating. Cooperating. Compromising.

The world was going to end.

Dante rolled stiff shoulders and studied his older brother who took vantage on the second floor and was leaning against the club wall, arms crossed. He looked as stern and unapproachable as ever – not that it stopped the girls who were eyeing him a little ways off. The problem of sexy genetics; Dante knew first hand what a curse it could be. His thoughts drifted again to their conversation just a few hours ago.

Vergil had explained that he wanted to understand what was happening to him, what this 'bond' with Kyrie was – how it affected them now, how it would affect them in the future, how to use it, how to exploit it, how to destroy it.

He brought out some books and scrolls; pages and pages of research frequently cross-referenced and meticulously noted. Dante stared sightlessly at the information before him, stomach churning. Vergil had somehow gotten himself into another complication – one that might give him his strength back. That was all the information he cared to know at the moment.

But then Vergil had met his gaze unflinching.

"_Yes, Dante, if with her help I can become stronger – to be as I was before everything – then I will accept this… situation with open arms. I…" He almost spat out the next words. "I hate being helplessness."_

This, Dante knew was the truth. Quietly, hesitantly, secretly, he admitted to himself that he hated Vergil being helpless too.

Dante rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh.

Even as he was elated at the fact that it seemed like his older brother was finally wiling to trust him, a part of him was just plain terrified. Vergil had deemed it serious enough to ask for his assistance. Members of his family seemed to have an affinity for the complicated and this latest entanglement was especially troubling, what with Kyrie's tie to the Order of the Sword.

Years that seemed like lifetimes ago, Vergil himself had been a well-meaning member of said organization, as high up and honoured as a son of Sparda could only be. Vergil had been so very pure and idealistic and full of noble dreams of saving the world from evil – just as their father, his role model, had once done.

But the Order had betrayed him; had made use of his ideals and his strength and his blood.

Dante knew that he could not blame them completely for how Vergil had turned out, after all you became only as far as you allowed yourself to become, but he did allow that it had been a key factor in the formation of his older twin's cynical and untrusting nature.

"_You're right, we need to know what we're dealing with." Dante spoke at last. "I'll get into contact with some friends and see if we can get somewhere safe for you to figure out what's going on."_

"_You're proposing…" Vergil began slowly._

"_That she can not stay where she is now; yes. I don't see her family being accepting of their daughter suddenly getting weird abilities and getting all chummy with a half-demon with no social skills. Other people might get hurt too if something goes wrong while you're 'experimenting' or whatever." Dante didn't add his misgivings about the Order of the Sword and Kyrie's tie to them; it it was easier if Vergil didn't know. Knowing his bull-headed, prideful, pain-of-a-brother would probably just go charging up to Order headquarters and challenge them to a duel or something. "Any objections?" _

_Vergil's mind spun quickly, thinking possibilities, looking at alternatives, revising plans. Finally he shook his head. "None."_

"_I'll make the calls now." Dante rose to his feet and then paused. "But I have one condition." _

_Vergil had been expecting something like this. He wasn't so optimistic as to think that Dante would just simply help him for free. In fact he preferred this system of quid pro quo – he mistrusted anything that came too easily and smoothly into his grasp. The world had taught him long ago that nothing worked that way. _

"_You're going to explain this to her." Dante spoke solemnly. "To give her the chance to make a willing decision to come."_

_The request threw him off. "What?"_

"_It's just that no one ever asked us, you know?" Dante's voice suddenly turned blithe. "It was always 'Oi, Sparda 's kid – do this!' or 'hey– go save the world now'. Just once it would have been nice if someone said 'so do you want to stop the apocalypse from happening?' or 'oh great-and-wonderful-Dante, can you please go get those demons?'. Granted I'd still do it, but you know, it would have been nice if someone asked."_

_Vergil ignored his brother's babbling. "And if she will not come willingly?" _

_The red-clad demon hunter gave an anticipatory grin. "Then we go add another crime to our already long list."_

Then the moment had passed and they were back to the uncomfortable silences and sharp retorts and quips. They agreed to wrap up the cases that they had already accepted in order to devote as much time and energy on this new situation. Dante had arranged a meeting with Morrison and decided to kill two birds with one stone by stopping by to patrol Enzo's bar and the surrounding vicinity.

Vergil had come, saying he was going to get the succubus; but Dante wondered if his older brother wasn't merely tagging along to spy on his network and make sure that Dante didn't enjoy himself in the cabaret.

Dante winked at the woman who was eyeing him across the bar. He was determined not to let Vergil have his way on either accounts.

The woman had just sauntered over and placed a hand against his arm when Vergil suddenly leapt from the second floor railing and stormed out of the place.

Dante was on his feet, ignoring the miffed cry of the woman as he gave chase to his older brother. He took off at a sprint, following Vergil into a club just a little ways down the road, and arrived there in time to see his older twin gut a man into two.

* * *

Gloria kept vigil by Nero's prone form, counting the electronic bleeps of the machine that measured his pulse.

So that was it. That was the reason why Nero was so drawn to the girl. Kyrie had a powerful, particularly enticing aura and poor, misguided, demon-possessed Nero had mistaken the pull of energy for an emotional bond of attraction.

_It all made so much sense…!_

But it hadn't been his fault – the girl's pull was strong; even Gloria had felt a measure of fascination and may have been swayed if not for her experience and control. Demons of a weaker caliber wouldn't have been able to resist.

Which was exactly what Gloria had hoped for when she brought Kyrie to the Underground, where lesser demons stalked the area all the time. If demons didn't get her, then the vagabonds and scum who thrived there would be certain to take care of a poor, lost, fragile young girl. By the shouts earlier and Kyrie's absence when she had made her way to her motorbike, it had looked like her plan had come into effect a lot sooner than she had even hoped.

Problem solved - and she didn't even have to lift a finger.

* * *

**AN:**

...Not my favourite chapter, but the next one will be fun for sure!

Darling reviewers, thank you so very very much for helping me keep going. I do happy little dances every time I see a message in my inbox; you guys help me burn calories and I adore you for that.


	18. The Choices We Make

**Chapter 18 : The Choices We Make**

The men were still giving chase.

'_Run, Kyrie, run!_' She cheered herself on. '_Think… think fast thoughts! Racecars! Wiley Coyote!_'

She clutched at the stitch in her side as her feet took her down paths that were misleading during the day and menacing during the night.

Past narrow alleys filled more with shadow than light; into lamp lit hawk markets, dodging merchants with oily smiles and buyers with busy scowls; past red-brick buildings, heavily graffiti-ed and windowless – Kyrie ran, mouth dry, sides aching till she could run no longer.

She pushed sweat damp hair out of her face and wondered at her luck when she realized that she had stopped in front of a cabaret. Kyrie hesitated in front of the pink neon-lit doors, gasping for breath. For a moment, she debated on whether to just run for a phone or retrace her steps back to Gloria when the sharp yells of her pursuers made her decision for her.

Kyrie made her escape - into the club.

The music beat the air like a physical force, Kyrie could feel it reverberating somewhere behind her ears and chest bone; a tribal beat. She moved through the mass of gyrating people, averting her eyes from the stage where scantily-clad women were twinned around poles.

Making her way to the corner of the room, she scanned the crowd with anxious discomfort, gasping for breath.

'_Okay… okay. Okaaaaaay. Now, think invisible thoughts! Um, um, um, air! Chameleons! Plastic wrap!'_

Kyrie stumble-ran for the counter, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

"Can I help ya?" The bar tender leaned across the bar top as he wiped a glass clean, heavily kohl-ed eyes openly curious.

"P-please, I'm being chased…!" She had to lean forward to hear and even then, yell to be heard. "Can you lend me a phone so I can call home and – "

"There you are, beautiful!" A large hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and she was jerked back roughly into the redhead's arms.

She made to back away, but his hand shot out to grip her wrist, a charming smile on his lips. She tried to open her mouth to protest – to scream – but found she could do nothing other than stare into the pupil-less eyes of what was suddenly the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

It wasn't that his features had changed, but all of a sudden he seemed to glow an attractive light that made it difficult for her to do anything other than stare at his face. Why had she been running away from him anyway? The man noticed her relax and his ensuing smile sent her heart fluttering.

"That's a good girl," He leaned in and his breath was sweet. "Don't worry about it, she just gets this way sometimes." The man told the bartender who gave a small shrug and moved to serve other customers. A strange hum began to flood her ears, blocking out even the insistent bass of the music. The man's voice dropped an octave lower and the buzzing in Kyrie's ears grew louder. "And now let's get some compensation for this scratch you gave me..."

He pulled her closer, and she could only watch in awe as the beautiful face came closer and closer, as his lips began to descend on hers.

A gloved hand suddenly clamped over her eyelids, pulling her back against a firm, leather-clad chest. The scent of thunderstorms filled her nose as she felt the controlled shifting of muscles behind her, followed by the distinct noise of a blade being unsheathed.

"_Slayer," _Came the terrified, garbled whine, gone all suavity. "I – I'm sorry! I didn't realize she was yours! I - " The figure behind her made no reply, but she felt his arm whip over her shoulders, followed by the grating of steel through bone, before a thud of something that was almost swallowed up by the pulsing music.

Someone screamed and then came the scramble of people jostling each other and running as far away as possible. All of a sudden, Kyrie found that she could move again and her knees proceeded to demonstrate that fact by trembling.

"Dante." Vergil's voice rumbled softly above her head as he dropped his hand away and turned her sharply behind him, keeping the man out of sight. "That'll be the incubus you want."

"…Is that… Kyrie?" Came Dante's incredulous voice, but Vergil was already on the move, fingers clamped with bruising strength around her arm and he proceeded to manhandle her out the club.

Outside, the streets were deserted and in the silence after the deafening music she felt her eardrums throb. A few streets away, at a deserted alley, Vergil suddenly dropped his death-grip on her arm and Kyrie crumpled to the floor. He stared down at the still girl, rage burbling in his chest at the memory of her staring so entranced at the lesser demon – so stupid as to let it _touch _her. He wanted to scrub at her arms, her shoulders, her lips – to do away the other demon's touch with his own if that was what was necessary. Instead, he grit his teeth and glared ice at the wide eyes that stared back.

He had wondered what he would feel the next time he saw her, and was almost glad at this excuse to be angry instead of ashamed.

"What are you doing here?" Vergil demanded silkily – furiously – she realized. "Do you really have a death wish or are you simply a bigger idiot than I had pegged you for?"

Kyrie stared up at him, chest heaving, and adrenalin pumping hot in her veins.

"You killed him." Came the whisper, unbidden from her lips. Unable to look at him, she focused her gaze on his boots, scuffed, worn and what must have once been brown leather, was now cracked with grey lines of use. There was a splatter of something dark on his toe-tip and Kyrie felt a strange urge to wipe in clean.

"Very astute of you." He replied scathingly. "But that is no answer to my question."

Kyrie fumbled for words. "I… I got lost!"

"All the way into the depths of the Underground?" Vergil was not pleased. "Kyrie…" Came the dangerous, velveteen thrum of his voice and she could hold back no longer.

"I was out with Nero's boss and was chased by some scary people!" She blurted out.

He cocked an expressive eyebrow and out came the story of her meeting with Gloria - tumbling out of her lips, hindered by her tongue, a flood of words that left an awkward silence in its wake.

"And so you decided to enter a cabaret to seek shelter." He demanded curtly.

"No…?" She looked almost embarrassed. "I didn't really mean to… I just couldn't run anymore and it was the most crowded place in sight. I was just trying to escape, until I met you… in a cabaret."She had the gall to give him a disapproving look.

"It's not for pleasure," He resisted the urge to tweak her nose. "I'm investigating the disappearances of some girls who worked here..." He trailed off upon noticing the way her shirt clung to her sweat-soaked form, at the slender shoulders that rose and fell with every shuddering breath. He tore his gaze away with a barely muted snarl. "Come. You're going home."

Kyrie tried to rise to her feet only to found that her knees had somehow locked into place. She was trembling: of the marrow rattling, stomach churning, liver quaking, shaking soul kind. Every fiber and cell was vibrating with the remains of adrenalin and fear.

She had been so scared.

_Still Nero didn't come. _

_But, a small voice whispered, Vergil did._

Kyrie lowered her head. "I… can't stand." She was suddenly furious at the thickness of her voice, at the weakness of her for being unable to do anything but run.

A leather coat fell upon her shoulders, its heavy weight and warmth reassuring. "It was just a demon." Vergil's voice was quiet; not gentle, but neither was it unkind. "He was the incubus that had resulted in the girl's disappearing. You've dealt with demons before. You've killed them, too." He did not fail to notice her flinch. "Now, get up."

His blunt logic made her feel better and eventually, the trembling went away. Kyrie slid her arms into the wide sleeves, shakily climbing unto her feet. She stood, and gave him a small smile that was tremulous at its corners.

"Thank you." She whispered, and in that moment, Vergil's gaze was not ice but flame.

Then Dante appeared, face grim.

"One of you explain what is going on." Gone all mirth and easy-going smiles, he looked as stern and grim as a vengeful Greek god, come to bring punishment. Then his gaze jerked unto Kyrie and his lips parted in stunned surprise. "Woah. You…"

Kyrie swallowed.

"What do I feel like?" She asked, curiously.

"Like pizza, just out of the oven." He answered immediately. "Like a shot of whisky as it burns down your throat. Like…"

Like the beginnings of a seduction; the stirrings of liquid fire pooling in ones stomach and heightened electricity in one's fingertips making every caress, breath and touch as painful as it was exquisite.

Dante's adam apple bobbed.

"…Uh… nice." He finished lamely. He ran his hands over his eyes as if suddenly tired. "Damn, Vergil you sure have it rough."

Vergil didn't like the distinct tone of pity in his brother's voice.

"Why the sudden change? I've never… felt this in Kyrie before."

Vergil crossed his arms, the lines of foreboding on his face deepening. "Yesterday, I had fallen asleep and wasn't completely in control. That may have begun the consolidation process."

"'Consolidation process'?" Kyrie echoed. "Of what?"

Dante and Vergil exchanged looks.

"Go to the agency." Dante nodded. "Morrison should be arriving soon and once I speak with him then follow."

Vergil turned to the girl. "Come with me."

"Oh and Verge," He glanced back at Dante who seemed a little flushed. "If there's anything in your books about how to calm down that magnet thing, do it before I get back. It's… distracting."

Vergil didn't know whether to bark out a laugh or gut his brother.

He gestured for Kyrie to follow him and on the way back, though she stood so close her fingertips brushed his sleeve, he did not move away.

* * *

Nero awoke, head pounding and thoroughly disoriented.

There was the dull beep of machinery, familiar from his frequent check-ups with Agnus, and the scent of disinfectant was strong in the air. Had he taken a nap in between one of the tests? Sometimes he took advantage of the time it took to process results to catch up on some rest. Or maybe Agnus' long-winded speeches had actually put him to sleep? He wouldn't have been surprised either way.

Nero tried to open his eyes and found that he couldn't.

Panic overtook him then and he tried to sit up, only to regret the action as pain lanced through his whole body. His head ached to the point where Nero wanted nothing more than to cut it off. Needles must have been stuck in every crevice and dip of his brain, burrowing their way deeper inside – and his hand! Oh, his hand! It was as if someone was grinding it into a bed of skewers, white with heat. He would've screamed but that involved moving, and Nero was anxious not to repeat his earlier mistake.

There was a soft intake of breath by his right and a clatter of heels as someone approached.

"Agnus – he's awake!" Came Gloria's breathy whisper.

"Nero, can you h-h-hear me?"

Nero weighed the pros and the cons of his next action. "Wa…water." He managed to rasp.

There was an anxious clattering and something cool was pressed against his lip. He managed to take several thirsty gulps and felt immediately better.

"Tha…nks…" He managed to slur before he fell back into unconsciousness.

The second time Nero woke, the pain had retreated to nothingness – in fact, he felt great. His body felt strong, all strain, all weariness gone to be replaced by vitality he had never felt before.

He opened his eyes. Gloria's concerned face and Agnus' calculating one came into blurry view.

"How do you feel?" Gloria asked anxiously.

Nero sat up and was surprised at the ease with which his body obeyed him. He felt as if he could run a marathon – heck, three marathons in succession if need be. Ignoring Gloria's worried look, he took a long, spine-lengthening stretch and began to peel off the probes and medical instruments that were stuck on him. "Good." He admitted. "Really good. What happened?" He began to unwrap the bandages that were wrapped around his arm, only to have Gloria's gloved hand stop him.

"Your arm." She spoke quietly. "During the examination you suddenly fainted and your arm began to transform… began to pour demonic energy and possess you."

"Possess…?" Nero stood stock-still and Gloria took it as a sign to continue.

"We managed to temporarily suppress the symptoms with some of Agnus' more recently crafted medication, but there is no longer any assurance that he can keep up to your body's ability to adapt. You're developing immunity too quickly." By the horror in Nero's eyes, Gloria could tell that he believed everything. She resisted the urge to purr. The wide-eyed doe look suited him so well. "It was lucky it happened when you were at the lab. If it had occurred anywhere else…" She trailed off delicately.

"Did I… hurt anybody?" Nero's head spun with the effort to keep up with the new information. "Did anyone see – find out?"

He had never before felt more helpless.

Gloria shook her head. "I was able to subdue you; once unconscious, your body stopped the change and we were able to get you the appropriate medication. Your secret is safe."

The unspoken 'for now' lingered heavy in the air.

Nero took a deep breath. "I need to report to Credo." His voice was impossibly calm. "Agnus, is there any way to repress the next change? What about the suppressor that you were telling me about?"

Agnus steepled his fingers, feigning calm but burbling interest that made Nero want to curl his fingers around the older man's neck. He supposed this was exciting from a mad-scientist's point of view, but Agnus really shouldn't derive so much pleasure from other people's misery.

"The c-c-c-commander has been informed." Agnus replied. "As for the suppressor itself, it can no longer do you any good. The demonic energy s-spread too far, had continued in its modification of you as its host, b-b-before we were able to h-h-halt it completely. You have c-come too deeply into hold for me to say anything in absolute certainty."

As Agnus spoke, Nero shook off Gloria's arm and tore at the bandages to stare at the sight before him.

Thick leathery scales had been grafted unto his forearm like some grotesque growth, encasing luminous blue flesh that ended in talons. There were the smallest shifts in the light that pulsed in response to his frantic heartbeat, and if it weren't so utterly up close and personal he would have said there was something almost beautiful about it. He tried to move his fingers and the lined digits moved in response.

The world spun a moment and Nero found himself in danger of heaving up yesterday's lunch.

"Nero, this is an order." Gloria's voice broke through his confusion. "Stay in the laboratory for your, and everyone else's, safety."

It hit Nero then: he was possessed and in danger of being further swallowed up by whatever this thing that was taking over his body was. He was a liability and a danger to everyone.

A monster.

"B-b-boy." Agnus' stutter broke through his thoughts. "You know I take s-s-special interest in your case." He ignored the humorless snort from the younger man. "I knew that there w-would come a time when the medicine would l-loose it's effectiveness. If I can suggest an… ah, alternative t-t-treatment."

Nero's head shot up. "What is it?" He hadn't quiet managed to erase the desperation in his voice. "Whatever it is – I'll do it!"

"Y-y-you've heard of 'fighting fire with fire'? It is of the same p-principle." Agnus said. "As you know, there are many different types of powers and abilities in the demon realm. With the increase in demon presence, we've come across a specimen that may just be the p-p-perfect solution to your problems."

Nero couldn't find the words to express his horror.

"It's a symbiotic type." Agnus continued. "In return for survival in a stronger host, it offers a means of c-c-control - to the one with the strongest w-will. This demon will allow you to have some means to manage the flow and development of the changes, provided you are the more dominant mind in your b-body. Do you understand the risk?"

Nero was pale and there was something almost fragile about him as he stared sightlessly at his arm. Gloria didn't dare look away for a sudden fear that he would somehow disappear if she did.

"I wasn't going to b-b-bring it up at all." Agnus really thought he deserved an Oscar. Or a salary raise at the very least. "But due to the c-c-circumstances… I know of n-n-no other way."

"So, what will it be?"

Nero clenched his hands: both human and demonic, and opened his mouth to reply.

* * *

They arrived at _Devil May Cry_ asthe pink neon sign had proudly proclaimed, a place that seemed to be a cross between an office lobby and an extension of Dante's house. A heavy wooden desk and a throne-like armchair commandeered the room, made of wood so dark and heavy it seemed to be carved of obsidian rock. All sorts of grotesque body parts and weaponry hung upon the walls, while a battered billiards table that looked like it had been glued back in half, a dented jukebox and half a drum set completed the room's décor.

Vergil marched in one of the backrooms as Kyrie sank on the vinyl couches in the corner of the room; grateful for the respite from the grueling pace he had set, especially after having run for so long. She slunk down deep into the leather folds of the jacket and resolved to exercise more.

Vergil had returned moments later, a dagger in hand.

"Hold this." He unsheathed it in one smooth motion, offering it to her blade first.

Kyrie blanched at the rust colored stain that traced its otherwise gleaming edge. "I, um, would prefer not to if it's all the same with you…"

He moved so quickly, her eyes couldn't follow him. One moment he had been standing before the coffee table, a reserved distance away; the next he was looming on top of her, face so close the tip of his nose near brushed hers. She heard plaster crack at the impact as Vergil's hand slammed against the wall behind her, trapping her within the enclosure of his arms.

His eyes were a clear and beautiful blue, deep and endless. She couldn't look away even if she had wanted to.

"Kyrie," He growled softly, and his breath brushed against her lips, warming her throat. "Hold the damn thing."

She shivered and wordlessly held out her hand.

His gaze never once leaving hers, he gently laid the dagger against her waiting palm.

Vergil pushed himself upright and rubbed at his temple as if that would stave the migraines away.

"Let it go and I'll sick Dante on you." He threatened, dropping unto the other armchair. He closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath, the tired lines on his eyes and forehead shadowed against the cheap fluorescent lighting.

"You are a demon magnet."

Whatever she had been expecting him to say that was certainly not it. Kyrie's confusion was clear: "...I beg your pardon...?"

Vergil merely continued.

"There are people who go their whole lives without a demon encounter, and there are those whose lives are saturated with it. You must have realized it but your abilities have begun to awaken." He spoke quietly but Kyrie found she could pick up every syllable, every nuanced tone in the dark velvet voice. "Most humans spend their life deaf, blind and dumb – shutting out what does not fit in the definition of their ideal world, even when it may prove fatal to them. But there are some anomalies; some who are more attuned to the differences, whether by choice or chance. Demon Magnets are one of those anomalies. Humans who… feel different. Who attract demons and call attention and interest just by being. This trait often lies dormant until the target hits puberty or there is some sort of catalyst."

It was fantastical. It was ridiculous. What he was suggesting just. Couldn't. Be.

"But…" Kyrie's mouth was dry and she had to try again. "But why have I never heard about them beforehand…?"

"Their survival rate is not high." Vergil finished evenly, and she swallowed.

Of course. What else could one expect when a demon shows 'interest'?

Vergil continued. "You might have ancestry, or perhaps by some unfortunate mutation you are a holy maiden dormant. It deals mainly with purity of both bloodline and the physical sense. Have you ever had sex before?" His bluntness made her face hot.

Of course, Dante chose this time to enter the agency. He gave a small laugh as he took a seat atop the desk. "Well, this is my kind of conversation. Carry on."

Kyrie squirmed. "T-that… I… um, no, but that's…"

"Then your abilities may be especially potent." Vergil continued smoothly. "Holy maidens hold a plethora of potential for trouble. If you've read any history or mythology, you would know: they are used as sacrifices, to break and create seals, as brides and gateways as bearers of both gods and demons. Virgins in particular are prized for the fact that they're so imprintable."

"It's not as horrible as he's making it out to be." Dante decided to give Kyrie a break. "Lady herself was a candidate and had a bad run in with someone wanting to use that particular skill, but look at her now: alive, if on the trigger-happy side."

"There are many ways for these abilities to manifest. Some are clairvoyant; others have sealing, healing or summoning abilities. In your case, you are a Magnet." Vergil fell easily into his task as an instructor. "Nature runs survival mechanisms. One of which paradoxically allows the Magnet to create a bond with a Demon, who feels obligated to protect said Magnet."

His gaze bored into her own and Kyrie felt her stomach clench in sudden horror and knowing. Vergil enunciated the next words clearly.

"During your run in with the Hell Pride, you called for help and I, for a lack of a better word, answered."

"No," Kyrie's head spun. "That doesn't make sense! If what you're saying is true then that would mean that you… you are…"

"A demon, yes." He confirmed, ignoring his brother as he piped up 'Half-demon!' from across the room.

A demon? The ones that her brother and Nero had spent all their lives protecting the people from? The ones that Dante and Vergil themselves hunted? The teachings of the Order had said that there were some exceptions, but also warned that most of them were bloodthirsty, followers of evil, who killed, destroyed and dealt misery on people for no other reason than because they loved it. _Those _demons?

And as someone who could 'bond' with one, what did that make her?

"Can you prove it?"

Vergil had expected this request and gave a short nod. He paused a moment, making sure he was calm, methodically going through his mental defenses, tightening and reinforcing. He gestured for her to drop the weapon and Kyrie did so, seeing Dante flinch somewhere in her periphery.

Vergil had pulled off his gloves and held out his bare hand for her to take. Hesitantly, she reached out and rested her fingertips against his.

And then…

It was unspeakably complicated and laughably simple. Like the fury of revenge, the sweetness of forgiveness, the sorrow of a parting and the hope of a promise; a little like falling love. Vergil met her gaze and knew then: she felt it too. She understood. She believed.

He pulled away quickly before he could be tempted to fall deeper in.

Kyrie was more prepared for the separation this time, but still her chest heaved for air that couldn't seem to get where it was needed, aching to be whole again.

"Take the dagger." Vergil was glad that his voice had managed to remain steady.

Kyrie obeyed and tried to gather her composure.

"Actually, I had formed my own theories about this." She had folded her hands across her lap, eyes serious and dark with thought. "With your prowess with the sword and your penchant for saving people, I thought maybe… you're a hero." She met his offended look with a smile. "Other than that, we were friends in our past lives. Or even, kindred souls while we were in heaven. It may even be… be infatuation," Her voice wavered with nervous shyness, a sweet, lilting flute note. "Or maybe one of us died owing the other a favour – one that demands fulfillment even now. Or perhaps… a second onset of puberty?"

She threw him a sideways glance then, and was relieved to see the amused curl of his lips.

"Kyrie." She tried not to shiver at the way he said her name, all caress and familiarity, like an old love song in two syllables.

It wasn't fair. Every time he did this 'magnet' thing her heart would stop and she would want him more than anything she had ever wanted in her entire life. Why did he seem so unconcerned, so _unaffected _…?

"Puberty." She interrupted him nervously, suddenly filled with a need to say something - _anything _at all - to keep him from talking her knees into goop_._ "Most definitely puberty. Although I was most hoping that the past-life friend scenario or even the favour one would hold true. But what kind of favour would I have owed you? I mean - "

"Kyrie." Vergil looked disapproving but she continued to babble even as the logical part of her mind could only stare on, mortified.

"… I hope it was something dramatic like you saving my life. But it could very well be that _you_ owe _me _something in our past life. Though I don't see myself as doing anything more amazing than baking you some gingersnaps. I'm very good with gingersnaps, you know – or at least I hope you do. Have you eaten any of the cookies I left –"

"Ky-"

"…it goes so well with hot milk or tea, and, um, could you not say my name? Please? It's very distracting and – so anyway, back to the, um, cookies - "

Dante's grin had stretched up to obscene heights and Kyrie resisted the urge to keel over and die on the spot.

"Oh! This Magnet situation wouldn't happen to have any side-effects would it? Like babbling? I'm not usually a babbler but I think I…" She seemed to give up then, resorting to burying her face in her free hand, face cherry-tomato red. "…want to die now."

"Kyrie." Vergil's voice was steel covered velvet, flashing into riposte, underlayed with amusement. "Puberty does not become you."

She raised her head and gave him a look, all deer-in-the-headlights before she burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes. "I'm so sorry. That was really very embarrassing but I think I'm very nervous. Oh my. I'm a Demon Magnet."

Dante himself was chuckling while Vergil let out a small sigh. At least there were no further signs of denial, even if he could do without the hysterics.

"So, what else should I know?" Kyrie sat up; the remains of her blush still bright against her cheeks. "Does holding weapons do anything?"

"It's the silver that does the trick. Silver tends to negate a lot of different types of energy, if not as well as holy water." Vergil was grateful for the return of the conversation into less embarrassing territory. "There is very little other information available; we'll have to explore most of the implications of this on our own."

"So on to our proposal: come with Verge and I to an all-expense paid learning trip to find out about your Magnet-ness." Dante jumped in and explained about the plan they had decided upon so far.

For a while Kyrie was still, but Vergil understood her silence. Whatever Dante had said about choices was euphemistic at best. There was no choice here: it was go and preserve your life or stay and put yourself and everyone else in danger.

"I understand." Kyrie rose to her feet. "I'll call my brother and – "

"No." Dante's voice was unusually kind. "I doubt your family will be welcoming of such a fact. We need to get this under control as soon as possible in as safe a manner as possible and that means the less people who know, the better."

For the first time, Vergil saw fear in her eyes.

"This isn't a very good joke." Kyrie whispered. "You… You're scaring me. My brother, Credo will be furious. He's strong and smart and is the Chief of the Or – "

"I hate to break it to you, Kyrie-doll, but we're strong too." Dante broke in quickly, hoping that his brother did not catch the almost-slip. "There is no point in pining your hopes on getting someone to come and leave unharmed."

"For once, Dante is right. Your abilities may very easily be subject to abuse. To be able to summon demons can be used in a multitude of ways." Vergil seemed to slip back into lecture mode. "Tell me, what can magnets do?"

Kyrie's grip tightened on the handle of the dagger, wavering between the gap of Dante's confrontational words and Vergil's passive ones. "They pick up metal, push away and…um… they can magnetize other metals…?"

"Indeed: they attract, repel and they also polarize. In this case you can enhance. Once upon a time, I picked a fight I knew I could not win." Vergil could feel his brother's gaze suddenly burning a hole at the back of his head. "I lost, was gravely wounded, and have been weakened since. The synchronization on Saturday did something… I feel stronger. Better than I have felt in such a long time. So understand this: the greater an asset you are, the greater a liability you pose as well."

Kyrie licked dry lips. "I understand. But you need to listen as well. I told you once; my brother and I are members of the Order of the Sword. There may be someone who can help us – "

"_The Order?"_

Too caught up at Vergil's willingness to share, Dante realized the slip too late.

"Hey, look – it doesn't matter where the kid is from, does it?" He tried to calm down his brother. "We've got enough complications without worrying about another one."

"_And you knew?"_

Vergil's tone was cold and flat; Dante winced at his mistake.

"I thought I had destroyed that shameful excuse of an organization before I left." Vergil's fingers closed, one by one around the hilt of his sword. "Were the demons their fault too? No, never mind; regardless of what you say, I have no assurance what you say will be true."

Dante tried not to wince at the accusation in his tone. "Oi, don't you have bigger things on your plate right now? How about we deal with this situation first before adding another one to your already very exciting life?"

Vergil rose to his feet, Dante mirroring his action. The air in the room was charged with tension so thick, Kyrie could've cut it with a muffin.

"You're asking me to hide?" Vergil enunciated each syllable with deadly grimness. "You're asking me to put up with their presence. To… ah, that's it. You want me gone from this place because they are here."

Suddenly, everything clicked into place: Dante's willingness to help, to use his contacts to 'assist' him, the jibe about Kyrie offering a means of power – it all made sense. His brother thought him a liability and wanted him gone.

Vergil had not expected anything less, but the realization pricked him anyway and fueled his rage.

"Have you learned nothing?" Dante looked exasperated. "What happened the last time you picked a fight you could not win?"

"I am not a coward." Vergil's lips twisted into a proud snarl. "I would rather die before I let them take me again!"

"YOU WON'T!" Dante roared. "I won't let them - I won't let you..!"

Vergil brought out his sword at the same time Dante ripped Rebellion out of its sheath. The two blades met in a show of sparks and a force so strong the tailwind sent paperwork whirling all over the room and lighter knickknacks tumbling. Kyrie pressed herself against the stairwell, eyes glued to the fight.

Gone all calm and composure, the two fought as if possessed. Vergil was all speed and minute precision; her eyes could catch only the shimmering after-image of his sword as cleaved through the air: strike, parry, twist and repartee in a blur almost too quick to comprehend. But Dante was strong. Whether by skill or experience, he knew just where to position his own sword and had no qualms about bringing his guns into the fight.

With a powerful blow, Dante managed not only to knock the sword out of Vergil's grasp, but the momentum carried through to slice past his older twin's left abdomen. Vergil staggered back with a grunt and Kyrie flinched as if she had been struck herself.

At first, she thought the fight to be over, but it seemed that neither one was content with it ending just yet.

"C'mon!" With a growl, Dante flung Rebellion away, the great sword spinning once to embed itself against the wall. He dropped a leg into a fighter's crouch, jerking his hand in a classic 'bring-it' gesture. "If you want to throw a tantrum, I'll be all the company you need; hell knows I've had the practice."

Ignoring his wound, Vergil grit his teeth and leapt at his brother. The swordfight became a brawl. Both men punching, kicking, head butting, clawing – drawing blood with tooth and nail as if that would sate the anger and grudges that had been allowed to accumulate and fester for so long.

Kyrie wanted to avert her gaze but found that she couldn't: it was the bloodiest, most violent, bestial thing she had ever seen, but somehow she felt more grief than horror at the two before her.

And then it was over.

Dante had managed to grasp Vergil by the lapel and drove himself forward in a head-butt that met his older brother's face with a sickening crunch. There was a rush of blood but Dante didn't even hesitate; he rammed his elbow unto Vergil's stomach, and when he doubled over, drove his fist unto the back of Vergil's neck. The older Sparda sank like a stone.

Dante rolled his unconscious brother over with a booted toe and docked him a final punch before rising to his feet, breathing still frightfully calm and even. He moved towards Kyrie then, face a grim mask, cheek flecked with his brother's blood – but his fingers on her own was gentle as he unwrapped her grip around the knife.

Kyrie noticed belatedly that she had gripped the blade instead of the hilt, though she wasn't certain whose blood it was that stained the handle.

"Kyrie." Dante thought to threaten, began to cajole, moved to bluster and was going to resort to bluff. But in the end, all he could do was beg.

"Please. Help him."

* * *

**AN: **Ohmy, this has got to be the longest one yet (you can blame Vergil for having his teacher-mode on~).


End file.
